


Precious

by asamandra



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Slavery, M/M, slave!Clint, slave!Pepper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asamandra/pseuds/asamandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony is sixteen, his father gives him a young boy as body slave. No one expected, that these two would fall in love...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was Tony's sixteenth birthday when he saw him for the first time. His father called him to the main hall of the mansion and that was unusual. Usually he called him to his office but this time Jarvis had said he expected him in the main hall. Tony rose from the workbench in his lab and followed the butler down and there, talking to two men and signing papers on a clipboard, was his father. Beside him was a crate and Tony's mouth got dry. He knew this kind of crates. Slave dealers used them to deliver slaves. 

“Tony,” his father said and waved him over. “Happy Birthday, son.” He gestured at the crate and Tony swallowed hard. His father knew what he thought about slavery but apparently had decided to ignore it and bought him a slave. 

“Dad, I don't want a slave...” he started but Howard waved it away.

“In a few weeks you're leaving for MIT and you need a body slave.” He gestured at the crate again and this time Tony went over to it. Carefully he opened the side and hunkered down to look into it. 

“It's a bit young but I got it and its brother at a bargain price. It's yours now,” his father told him and Tony gritted his teeth. But when he looked into the crate and saw the slave he had to restrain himself to not hit his father in his face. The _slave_ was a young boy, not a day older than twelve years, scrawny but cute. He sat in the crate, huddled into one corner, his legs drawn up to his thin body and his wide eyes told Tony that he was terrified. He only wore the small slave shorts and the slavers had chained his thin wrists with heavy manacles. He seemed a little bit lost in the crate. It was too big for him but they were built to also transport huge work slaves in them. 

“Hey,” he said and smiled at him but the boy just tried to melt into the crate. Tony held his hand out for the boy to take it but then they got interrupted.

“Get out, boy,” his father snarled and came over. Apparently it took too long for him. He shoved Tony aside and reached in, grabbed the chains and pulled the boy out and now Tony could see him properly for the first time. The boy landed at the floor but after a kick against his ribs he hurried into a kneeling position, trying to be as small and obediently as possible. Tony saw angry welts on his chest, his legs and his back. They had beaten him and he was obviously in pain because Tony had also seen the chafed knees and now he knelt on them. 

“So-sorry, Master,” the boy mumbled and Howard slapped the back of his head and he ducked even more. Tony saw that he was scared out of his mind and didn't know what was expected of him and to punish him for that wasn't right in his opinion.

“Stop that,” Tony couldn't hold back any longer. “You gave him to me, remember?” He spat. He put himself between the slave and his father and now Howard raised a brow. 

“I've thought you didn't want a slave?” He asked, a slight mocking tone in his voice, and Tony got angry. 

“I want him now. Don't want to imagine what you're going to do with him if I decline.” 

“Then it would go to our ranch till its old enough to work in one of the factories.” Howard shrugged casually and Tony glared at him, shook his head disappointed and turned to Jarvis.

“Jarvis, could you please bring him to my room?” he asked and the old slave bowed.

“Of course, Master.” He said and took the boys arm. Tony saw the boy looking unsure from Howard to him and back and when he nodded he let himself be led to the stairs and up to Tony's rooms without hesitation.

“That's a child, father,” he snapped as soon as the two slaves were gone and he stared at the older man. Howard shrugged once more. 

“It was a package. I wanted the older one and had to take the younger one as well. But I knew that you'll need a body slave at MIT and so I decided to give it to you. And by the way, it's only four years younger than you.” 

“He's a _child_!” Tony repeated and shook his head. 

“So are you, Tony. I take it that you want it, right?” Howard asked instead of a reply to his accusation.

“Yes, I want him and if only to prevent that you send him to the ranch or the factory,” Tony grumbled and grabbed the key to the boy's chains his father held out for him. 

“Take care of it. It's not like your bots, it needs attention, Tony.” 

“ _It_ is a human being that you've decided to take away its human rights,” Tony spat again. 

“Don't give me that abolitionist's shit, Tony. It is a slave. It doesn't have human rights because it's not human. Don't confound that,” Howard smirked and when Tony glared at him he turned around and went to his office. Of course, that was everything he had to expect from his father on his birthday. He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at the stairs before he sighed. _Great!_ he thought and sighed again.

***

When he entered his rooms he found Jarvis standing beside the boy who stared at Tony, his eyes still wide as saucers, and fiddled nervously with the chains around his wrists.

“It's okay, Jarvis. I'll take over now.” Tony said and the old butler bowed his head and left the room. When Tony approached him the boy stepped back till he hit the wall. 

“Shh, don't,” Tony raised a hand and showed him that he was no threat and the boy just slumped down to his knees again. 

“No, come on, stand up. You're knees are hurt,” Tony slowly closed the distance and held his hand out. The boy looked warily up at him. “I won't hurt you.” He saw the fear in the boys eyes but also a tiny spark of hope. “Please, get up.” He still held his hand out and finally, after a very long moment, the boy took his hand and Tony helped him to stand. The clinking sound from his chains made him nauseous, though.

He led him to the couch. “Sit down,” he said. 

“I... I'm not allowed on furniture, sir,” the boy mumbled but Tony shook his head.

“I've ordered you to, right?” 

“Yes, sir.” And finally he gave in and sat down, carefully and only a few centimeters of him touched the couch. Tony looked at him and cocked his head. “What's your name?” 

The boy licked his lips and swallowed. “Wha-whatever you want, sir... Master.” he stammered and fiddled nervously with his hands. His voice was raspy as if no one had given him water for a long time.

“Tony,” he said and the boy nodded. And then it hit him. “That's my name. I don't want you to call me Master or sir. Call me Tony,” he explained and the boy nodded again. “And what's your name? What did your mom call you?” 

“Clint, ma... Tony.” 

Tony nodded and took the key his father had given him. He reached for the boy's, Clint's, hands and opened the shackles. But then he cursed under his breath. His thin wrists were chafed and inflamed and they had to hurt badly. “Stay,” he said and Clint nodded again while Tony went to the inter phone and called Jarvis. He should send someone to treat Clint's injuries and bring some food and water.

“Why did they beat you, Clint?” Tony asked and the boy cast his eyes down and licked his lips. 

“I... I wanted to stay with my brother, Tony,” he murmured quietly. Tony understood. 

“I never wanted this,” he sighed and once more the boy nodded. Clint carefully folded his hands on his knees and sat quietly beside him, just watched him and every move he made. “How old are you, Clint?” Tony asked and looked over at the boy beside him.

“Twelve, Tony,” he answered and Tony sighed again. The way he said _Tony_ was just another way to call him Master. He looked the boy over again and shook his head. 

“You aren't born a slave, right?” he asked and Clint's eyes went wide again and he swallowed a few times. 

“Master?” He asked and then he ducked down, slipped to the floor and to his knees. “I'm sorry, ma... Tony. I... I didn't want to disobey you. It... it slipped.” Tony was confused at first but then he realized that he thought he would punish him because he had ordered him to call him Tony and not Master.

“It's okay, Clint. Calm down. I won't hurt you. I've told you, right?” 

“Yes, Tony.” Clint nodded carefully when Tony made him sit on the couch again. They got interrupted by a knock at the door and Tony called whoever was outside to enter. It was Robert, one of the kitchen slaves. He also wore only the thin slave shorts. The only slave with proper clothing in this household was Jarvis because he was the butler. 

Robert had a tray in his hands and slid gracefully to his knees. “Tony,” he murmured quietly and Tony gestured for him to put the things over to him. 

“Please, patch him up, Robert,” he said and the man bowed his head and rose as graceful as he went down. His father had put a lot of effort in proper training for his house slaves and all of them could move as quiet and as graceful as possible. With a disapproving glance at the slaveboy sitting on the couch the older man knelt down in front of them and started to clean the boy's wounds. Tony could clearly see that Clint felt uncomfortable but he didn't care right now. He wanted him patched up and fed and then he would see what to do with him. 

When Robert was done he looked at Tony for a moment and when he nodded he rose and left his room. But he didn't close the door because another slave was outside, Lisa, and she entered as quiet as Robert, knelt down and placed the tray with the food on the small table in front of Tony. He could see a plate with sandwiches, an apple and a bottle with water. When he gestured Lisa left as well and closed the door behind herself. 

“Eat. It's for you,” Tony said and shoved the tray over to Clint. The boy looked at him sceptically but when he nodded he carefully took one of the sandwiches and took a bite. But then things started to happen very fast and the boy wolfed the sandwiches and the apple down at record speed and emptied the whole bottle of water. Tony couldn't hold back a satisfied smile. 

“Clint, how long are you... are you...” Tony licked his lips. But Clint understood.

“Three weeks, Tony,” he said and looked up at him. 

“Oh god,” he couldn't hold back. “Tell me what happened.” The boy seemed pretty nervous but he had learned not to disobey an order. The hard way. The welts on his body spoke louder than words.

“My... my brother, Tony, he... he stole from the circus manager and got caught. And the manager said that since he doesn't know how often he had done this before we have to pay. But...” 

“Circus? You're from the circus?” Tony blurted out and looked the boy over. 

“Yes, Tony. But I can work,” he added quickly when he saw Tony's expression. “Believe me. I can work hard.” 

“Calm down, I believe you. I was just curious. So, your brother stole from the circus and they enslaved you?” Tony asked and the boy nodded carefully. 

“But I didn't steal. I won't take your things, Tony, only if you tell me to,” he blabbered nervously and when Tony looked at him, at the thin shorts he was allowed to wear he was sure that there wasn't a place where he could hide things, even if he wanted to steal something.

“I believe you, Clint.” Tony said when he saw the boy shifting nervously on the couch. “What did you do? In the circus, I mean?” 

“I... I was Trick Shot's trainee. He wanted me in his act,” Clint looked at the ground now. Apparently he thought this was explaining it but when he saw Tony furrow his brows he added. “It was an act with bow and throwing knives.” 

“You can shoot a bow?” Tony's eyes went wide and the boy nodded again, this time a tiny smile on his face. 

“Yes, Tony. I'm not as good as Trick Shot, though. I was just learning. But then...” He looked at his feet and Tony felt a twinge of remorse. That poor boy lost his freedom because his brother had fucked it up. 

“Would you like to continue that?” Tony asked. He had never seen someone who had mastered a bow and who knew, maybe one day Clint could be his bodyguard.

“Tony?” Clint asked and looked up, hopeful now. 

“I'll get you a bow and then you can practice again.” Tony stated and this time, for the first time, he saw a smile on Clint's face. And his whole face lit up. 

“Thank you, Tony.” 

“And now follow me. I'll show you around.”

***

In Tony's room was a designated nook for a body slave but Clint didn't use it. There was a cot for the slave to sleep on and a dresser for _his things_. But Clint didn't use the cot. The first night Tony realized that the boy sneaked into his room, curled up on the carpet beside his bed and slept there, where he could hear him, Tony.

Tony had opened his eyes and looked at him for a long moment before he reached down and touched his shoulder. The boy startled violently and wanted to hurry away but Tony had stopped him, a hand on his wrist. 

“Why are you here?” he whispered and Clint paled. 

“I'm sorry, Master. I didn't intend to disturb you. I just...” and then he realized that he had called him master again and he apologized repeatedly. 

“Clint, calm down.” Tony said and after a few seconds he actually calmed down. “Trouble to sleep?” he asked and the boy bit his lip, looked warily at him but finally he nodded. “Come here,” Tony said and patted the space beside him. His bed was big, there was enough space for two grown ups. Clint's eyes went wide but when Tony patted the spot again Clint carefully climbed onto the bed. Tony chuckled slightly when he heard the small sigh. Given his background this bed was probably the softest Clint had ever lain on. Tony took the sheets and covered the two of them and Clint's eyes went even wider and Tony saw him stroke the fabric slightly, disbelievingly. 

“It's okay, Clint. No need to worry,” he said when the boy licked his lips again and again. “Try to sleep now.” 

But the next thing Clint said let his blood run cold. “Do you want me to...” he said and started to fumble with his shorts. It took a few seconds for Tony to understand what he meant but then he immediately grabbed his hand and stopped him. 

“No!” He said, maybe a little bit too harsh when he saw the boy pale and duck down. “No, Clint. No. I just want you to sleep. Okay? Just lie down and sleep. That's all I want.” Clint nodded and put his hands on his chest. Tony could clearly see the relief in his expressive eyes. “Sleep now,” he repeated and Clint nodded again.

“Yes, Tony.”

The next morning, when Jarvis came to wake him, Tony heard an indignant gasp and then he realized why Jarvis was so upset. Clint was sound asleep and huddled very close to Tony and he, Tony, had his arms protectively around him. Last night, when he climbed into his bed, there was a huge gap between the two of them. Jarvis opened his mouth to complain, after all, he was the alpha slave in this household and it was his duty to get the other slaves in line before their master had to deal with the problem and _this_ was clearly against all rules. But when Tony saw, that the older man wanted to reprimand the boy he shook his head and put a finger over his lips to shush him. Jarvis nodded but Tony could see that he would still _talk_ to the boy about his behavior. 

“It was my order,” Tony said as if he had to explain himself to a slave nowadays. This should keep the older man quiet. 

Tony turned back to Clint, stroked over his head and the boy slowly woke but when he realized where he was he hurdled out of the bed and back onto his knees where he apologized repeatedly. Tony shooed Jarvis out of his rooms but he told him that he should send breakfast, enough for two, up to his room. The old slave's eyes went as wide as Clint's had the night before but he bowed and left.

“Clint, come on. Get up,” Tony took his hand and lifted him up. He looked at his knees, at the bandages Robert had applied. They were okay. His move didn't rip them off. 

“Okay, you stay here, I go and shower now. When I'm done you can shower. I know that you're supposed to use the slave showers in the basement but that's ridiculous. You can use my shower as well. I'll get you some unscented shower gel so you don't get in trouble with the other slaves. When our breakfast arrives you can set the table over there,” he pointed at the table and when Clint nodded, Tony smiled and went to the bathroom. 

When he came back he saw the table set with enough food for two and Clint knelt beside it on the floor. Tony sighed.

“Clint, what did I tell you about kneeling on your hurt knees?” The boy looked up at him and paled.

“I... I'm not supposed to? Tony?” He asked carefully and when Tony nodded he rose. And he could see that the boy awaited punishment. But to kneel on his chafed knees was punishment enough, it had to hurt him. Tony sat down at the table and then he pointed at the other chair. 

“Sit down,” he said. 

He saw the boy swallow hard and he bit his lips before he blurted out, “Furniture is for masters, not for slaves.” He fiddled with his fingers and Tony shook his head.

“Clint. You know that I'm your owner now, right?” He asked and the boy nodded.

“Yes, Tony.” 

“And I set the rules for you, right?” He took the coffeepot and filled his mug and then, after a few seconds of deliberating, he filled the second mug up to the half. 

“Yes, Tony,” Clint said and nodded again. 

“What did I just say to you?” He asked and Clint swallowed and Tony saw that he had to think about what exactly he meant. 

“You said I should sit on the chair?” It was more a question than an answer but when Tony nodded and pointed at the chair again Clint carefully sat down, just a few centimeters of his ass touched the seating surface and he held his hands folded in his lap and looked at the ground as far as possible.

Tony shoved the mug over to him and when the boy looked incredulously he shoved the milk and the sugar over as well. “Do you drink coffee?” He asked and Clint eyed the mug warily but then he shrugged.

“I don't know, Tony. I... I never tried it. Trick Shot didn't let me try it, he said it would affect my aim.” He still didn't touch the mug. 

“Try it. If it's too bitter you can add some milk and sugar.” Clint nodded, took the mug and this was the first time Tony saw his thin fingers properly when he wrapped them carefully around the mug. They were long and the knuckles were knobbly and Tony caught himself staring at his oddly shaped nails. He watched him take a small sip and then grimace. Tony chuckled and gestured once more at the milk and the sugar. Clint added a little bit of both, tried again and added more. When his mug was filled with more milk than coffee he finally drank it and Tony made a note in his mind to order something else for the boy. Maybe some hot chocolate. Everyone loves hot chocolate.

***

“Clint?” Tony called as soon as he entered his room. It only took a few seconds and the younger boy appeared and he smiled shyly. He was here for two weeks now and Tony had discovered that he liked to have him around. And as it seemed Clint liked him as well. He only opened up when Tony was around. When he was in the same room with Howard he cowered beside Tony's leg and only relaxed when he had his hand on his shoulder. And the other slaves didn't like him as well. They hated that he didn't have to sleep in the barracks with them but with Tony in his room. They gave him a hard time, even if he was just a boy.

“I have something for you,” Tony said when he was close and the boy's eyes went wide. 

“For... for me?” He came over and looked curious at him. 

“Turn around,” Tony gestured with his fingers and Clint swallowed hard but obediently did as he was told without hesitation. Tony unlocked the plain collar he wore and opened the buckle, threw it away before he took the thin leather strap he had bought and looked at it again. It was beautiful, made of peccary leather, very soft and perfectly crafted. Tony moved his hands around Clint's neck with the collar, placed the d-ring over his throat and buckled it in the back, closed the lock. 

Clint slowly brought his hand up and touched the new collar. 

“This... this is for me?” he whispered and looked at him, his eyes still wide. 

“It looks good,” Tony nodded and smiled and Clint smiled as well.

“It's so soft,” he breathed and couldn't stop touching it. “Is it precious?” 

“Yes, but not as precious as you,” he whispered and Clint turned around, looked at him with wide eyes. And then he went down onto his knees, touched Tony's feet with his forehead in the ritual gesture of thankfulness.

“Thank you, Tony,” Clint whispered. Tony reached down for Clint's arm. 

“Don't. Don't do that, Clint,” he murmured and pulled the boy up. Clint blushed.

“But that's what they taught me, Tony,” he said. “To show my thankfulness.” 

“You know, that I'm not the typical owner, right? You could've told me that you like the new collar and I woudl've believed you.” 

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled and cast his eyes down. 

“So, you like it?” Tony asked and Clint finally looked up and then he nodded. Tony smiled. 

“Yes, it's... it's beautiful,” the boy said and Tony felt a twinge of remorse deep inside himself. Clint was thankful for something, that showed to all the people that he wasn't free, that he was property. But it was really a pretty collar and it suited him. “Thank you, Tony,” he repeated.


	2. Chapter 2

“So, this will be your room, Mr. Stark,” the resident assistant, Gordon So-and-so, said and seemed really proud, when he showed it to him. His mother and Clint accompanied him and while his mom walked around the room, the slave knelt beside the door, his hands folded in his lap, his eyes trained on his _master_ , perfect position. And Tony already hated it, but in public they needed to keep up appearances. 

“What do you say, honey?” His mother said, slightly slurring, and Tony looked around the _dorm room_. Well, it wasn't the usual dorm, it was the deluxe version of a dorm. And the residents didn't call it dorm, of course not, that would be too ordinary. No, they called it residence hall, with residential suites for the students. But even if still two students had to share one suite, they were far bigger than the usual rooms in ordinary dorms. 

Tony sighed. He would have moved into an ordinary dorm as well, but he wouldn't be allowed to bring Clint there. 

“I guess it's okay,” he said and opened one of the cupboards in the kitchenette. The _'rooms'_ were fully furnished apartments but Gordon Thingamabob said, if he wanted to replace some furniture, that wouldn't be a problem. The residence's slaves would remove everything he wanted. He went back to his bedroom, scrutinized the queen sized bed and then he nodded. “Yeah, it's okay,” he repeated and went in. He was used to share his bed with Clint by now and it was big enough for the two of them. 

The suites had a huge living room with attached kitchenette, two bedrooms with en-suite bathrooms and dressing rooms and of course a study for each one. 

“He'll take it, Mr. Shulzaberger” his mother slurred and inwardly Tony sighed. It was nine in the morning and she was already half drunk. She probably never really sobered off, given the huge amounts of alcohol she drank every day. But his father was busy today and one of his parents had to be here with him to sign the lease. Surprisingly she remembered Gordon's name. 

“Whom do I share this suite with?” he asked and Gordon looked at his clipboard. 

“Your roommate is Bernard Dulaque, the son of the French Ambassador to the United States,” Gordon announced proudly. Tony furrowed his brows and looked at Clint. He knew that slavery was abolished in France. 

“Do you think that's advisable? I mean, he's French and...” Gordon's eyes followed his and the assistant pursed his lips.

“Well, Mr. Dulaque knows that slaves are allowed in this residence when he moved in. I guess he will be fine,” Gordon said and then he smiled. “And it's not as if it's around all the time.” He gestured in Clint's direction. Tony frowned.

“What do you mean?” He asked and Gordon cocked his head.

“Well, it will be in the slave quarters, right?” 

“No. Clint will stay here, in my room,” Tony stated and Gordon looked at his mother, seeking for help but Maria just shrugged and sat down on the huge couch, stating to have circulation problems. But everyone could smell the alcohol if they were close enough. 

“He can't stay in your room, Mr. Stark. There are no accommodations for slaves. We have fairly comfortable quarters in the basement where your pet can stay and...” 

“No, that won't be necessary. Clint stays in my room. Period. If Mr. Dulaque has a problem, then find me a room with a roommate without problems, but I won't let Clint stay down in the basement.” 

Gordon looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. And then Tony realized his _mistake_ , he seemed too attached to a slave. 

“What if I need him at night? Do you honestly think I want to fetch my midnight snack or my glass of water myself when I have a slave to do it? But when he's in the basement, it will take a lot of time to get here and... no, he stays here. He can sleep on the floor beside my bed, he's used to it anyways,” he lied quickly and he saw a tiny smile on Clint's lips. The boy lay only a few minutes on the carpet beside his bed and since then he always slept together with Tony _in_ the bed. 

“Of course, Mr. Stark,” Gordon gave in and Tony saw him repress a sigh when he looked at Maria, who had her eyes closed and her head leaning against the backrest of the couch. 

“Mom!” Tony said, maybe a little bit too harsh and her eyes snapped open and she looked around, slightly confused.

“Yes?” she asked and blinked a few times. The room wasn't familiar and only when she spotted Tony, she smiled. 

“We're done here. Mr....” Tony gestured with his hand. He had already forgotten his name again. It wasn't important enough to remember.

“Shulzaberger,” Gordon supplied.

“Yeah, Mr. Shulzaberger will talk to Mr. Dulaque and sort out the matter and if he's okay, we come back and sign the lease. If he's not he will find me another suite, right?” Tony said and Gordon nodded. Maria smiled happily.

“Of course, dear,” she said and once again Tony had to repress to roll his eyes. He shook Gordon's hand reluctantly and turned to leave the room, shooing his mother out in front of him and when he passed by Clint, he snapped his fingers and the boy rose in a fluid motion. Jarvis had taken him to the other slaves and they had taught him how to move as gracefully as possible. Gordon raised his brow appreciatively and inwardly Tony smiled proudly.

Clint followed Tony and Maria, always a step behind Tony and to his right. Outside the limousine waited and Clint hurried over to open the door for them and when they were in, he climbed in as well, knelt down beside Tony's leg. 

“I'll call you, Mr. Stark, Mrs. Stark,” Gordon said and when Maria slurred her goodbye, Tony closed the door.

“What a moron,” he muttered and placed a hand on Clint's shoulder.

The driver started the car and it didn't take long and his mother started to snore slightly in her seat. Tony sighed. 

“Come on, get up here,” Tony said and tugged at Clint's arm. 

“What if she wakes up, Tony?” he asked and Tony shrugged. 

“I don't care, you know that,” he smiled and petted Clint's hair. The boy leaned into the touch, but he refused to sit on the seat, he stayed on his knees.

“I don't want to get you in trouble, Tony,” he murmured. 

“So, what do you think?” he finally asked and Clint looked up, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. “About the room. And the college as such,” he added then and Clint licked his lips nervously.

“I... It's a nice room,” he said then. He had learned, that Tony wanted to hear his opinion, too. “It's not as nice as your room in the mansion, but... I don't know about colleges or rooms in colleges, but it seems nice,” he babbled and Tony smiled. 

“Yeah, it's okay, isn't it?” Tony opened the mini-bar, took two bottles of water, handed one to Clint, opened the other one and took a long sip. “A little small maybe,” he shrugged and took another sip. Clint looked down at his bottle, fiddled with it, but kept quiet. 

“Hey, what's wrong?” he asked concerned and Clint licked his lip.

“It's... the suite, I mean... it's bigger than the house my family had had, when...” he swallowed. Of course Tony knew that Clint's parents died when he was six and that he and his brother ran away to the circus, when he was eight.

“Oh,” was everything Tony managed, when he remembered, that Clint didn't grow up in a huge mansion and that he confronted him again with his luxury problems. “I'm sorry,” he said and squeezed the boy's shoulder. 

“Not your fault,” Clint murmured quietly and finally opened his bottle and took a sip. And for the rest of the drive he stayed quiet, just leaned against Tony's leg and drank from his bottle every now and then.

***

Three weeks later Tony moved out. Gordon God-knows-what-his-name-was had talked to Mr. Dulaque and he said, he would be okay with Clint in their suite.

Two of the slaves from the Stark household had packed Tony's things and Clint had helped them but Tony had sensed, that they weren't thrilled, to have the boy around. He was hardworking but nevertheless, whenever they thought, no one would see it, they had nudged and shoved and pushed the boy and more than once he fell. Tony realized that it probably was his own fault, since he clearly favored Clint but... well... Clint was his and it was his damn right to favor him, wasn't it? He wasn't sure if he should intervene but when Clint had grazed his knee, trying to not let Tony's favorite Captain America comic books drop, he finally had put his foot down and reprimanded the other slaves and he had talked to Jarvis, the alpha slave, that he should see to their punishment. 

Jarvis had nodded and sent two other slaves to complete their task and Tony had watched them very attentive. Luckily they were away now for a long time and when he looked around his mostly empty room in the mansion, he sighed. 

He was really burning to go to college. He could've gone last year but his mother had insisted, that he had to stay till he was at least sixteen. She thought, fifteen was too young to be alone there, when all of his fellow students would be way older than him. Tony was angry at first, but then he had used his spare time since his high-school graduation to work on his second and his third robot and he started to work on an artificial intelligence. 

But now, since they let him finally go, he had to admit that he was really glad to go. His father seldom spent time with him and his mother was most of her time drunk. And so it was him, Jarvis and now Clint. But Clint would come with him, that was, why his father had bought him. 

When David, one of the drivers, finally turned into the street that brought him away of the mansion, he looked back but then he smiled. 

“Why are you smiling, Tony?” Clint asked and this time, since they were alone in the car, he sat beside him. His father was on a business trip and his mother had offered to accompany him but he said, that it wasn't necessary. She had hugged him and smiled and Tony knew, secretly she was glad, that she didn't have to leave her house... and her bar. 

“I'm glad, that I can finally go,” he said and looked at Clint. But the boy seemed confused. 

“I know you and your parents are not close. But won't you miss them?” he asked. Tony pursed his lips and took a deep breath. He had to think about his question but then he shook his head.

“No, I don't think so,” he said. “As you said, we're not really close and most of my time I spend alone and now... now I think I look forward to meet new people, make new friends, you know,” he said and Clint nodded. He swallowed and looked at his fingers in his lap. 

“I miss my mom,” he whispered barely audible. 

“I'm sorry, Clint. If... if there was something...” he started but Clint took a deep breath and shook his head and right now he looked way older than his twelve years. 

“They are dead, Tony. There's nothing you can do,” he murmured. Tony saw a tiny tear in Clint's eyes and he put his arm around his shoulder. 

“You're not alone, Clint,” he said and stroked his shoulder and the boy nodded again. 

“I know.”

***

Bernard was an asshole. That was the first thing, Tony discovered, when he finally met him. When he and Clint entered the suite, he lounged on the couch and watched them. Clint and a few of the residence's slaves carried Tony's stuff into his bedroom and Tony sat down on the couch as well.

“Hi, I'm Tony,” he said and smiled but the older boy only raised a brow and scrutinized Tony.

“You're young,” he said and in these two words he could already hear the thick french accent. 

“Yes, I'm sixteen,” Tony said and leaned back. 

“People are older when they start here. You a genius or something like that?” Bernard asked and cocked his head. 

“Maybe,” Tony shrugged and the other boy sighed theatrically. 

“Great,” he muttered and nodded at Clint, who just entered the living room and looked at Tony expectantly. “Who's that?” 

“That's Clint,” Tony explained and Bernard pursed his lips. 

“He's a slave, right?” He had an unnerving habit to state the obvious, Tony discovered. Everyone could see that Clint was a slave. The collar and the shorts should be an unmistakeable hint even if he wasn't officially registered yet. But then Tony remembered that he was French and there were no slaves in France. 

“Yes, he's my slave,” Tony said and Clint knelt down beside him. “Gordon So-and-so told you I would bring him, right?” 

“Didn't expect you to bring a child. But then, you're a child, too,” Bernard sighed and Tony immediately disliked him. 

“Yeah, good talk,” Tony said, more forceful than necessary and rose. Clint followed suit and went with him into his bedroom.

“What an asshole,” he muttered and flopped down in the armchair two of the slaves had carried in. But he rose only a second later to pace in front of his bed. Clint stood beside the door and watched Tony, muttering curses that, of all the billions of people on this world, he would get the biggest a-hole. 

“Tony,” Clint finally took a deep breath and blocked his way. Tony looked up, his brows furrowed and his head cocked. “You don't have to talk to him. You managed to ignore your parents for years, it shouldn't be a problem to avoid him,” he said. 

“Yeah, you're right,” he smiled and a tiny smile appeared on Clint's face as well. “So, what do you think about exploring our new home?” 

“Yes, I'd like that,” Clint nodded eagerly and went to the door, waiting for Tony. He chuckled and put on a jacket. But Tony didn't see Bernard watching them from his room, or to be more precisely, watching Clint.

***

They settled in fairly quickly and only two days later Clint knew, where to go to get Tony's food, i.e. his snacks like dried blueberries, chocolate and coffee. They both ate in the cafeteria because neither of them was able to cook and they didn't want the residence's slaves in their suite all the time. Usually Clint was supposed to eat in the slave quarters in the basement, but Tony wasn't the only slave owner, who brought their body slave with them to the cafeteria and _fed_ them there. They both saw others as well. But there Clint had to kneel on the floor beside Tony and to take the food out of Tony's hand. At first Clint – and Tony, too – blushed violently but they got used to it.

During the lectures Clint knelt beside Tony and it seemed as if he'd listen to the professors. And apparently he understood quite a bit of it because sometimes he asked Tony to explain the parts, he didn't understand. Tony was excited and he thought he needed to explore that further one day. But first he found something different for Clint. The college – since lots of the students brought their slaves – offered training classes for slaves, too. Most of them were about household chores or sexual chores but he found a class, where an owner could let his slave train to be a bodyguard one day. And since he knew that Clint was good with a bow – he had let him shoot every afternoon when he still was at home – he signed him up for that class. Clint liked it. He would learn how to use his body to defend his master and they had a weapons instructor as well. That guy – a former Army Ranger with only one leg – was excited, when he saw Clint's accuracy and precision, even if he scolded him all the time about his fucked up circus-style stance. Sometimes, when the weather was okay, Tony sat beside the training grounds and watched them. Clint was really good and if he weren't a slave, he could partake the Olympic games. He sure as hell would've won all the gold medals. Unfortunately slaves weren't allowed at the games.

But even if he really liked college, Tony sometimes felt lonely. He had Clint, of course, but all his fellow students were so much older than him. He was never invited to parties or stuff like that and even if he already knew some of the older students – Tiberius Stone, Justin Hammer and Aldrich Killian were the sons of some of his father's business partners – he didn't have friends. And Stone, Hammer or Killian only talked to him because of his father, Tony discovered. They didn't want to _alienate_ the heir of Stark Industries. But this fact didn't make them friends. 

That's why Tony spent lots of time in the library or in the robotics labs. And that's why Tony sometimes forgot, that he had to fetch Clint from his training.

***

One evening three months after starting his first semester – only he and the TA were in the lab – one of the college's slaves knocked at the lab door. The TA frowned but she waved him in and the young man knelt down immediately.

“Forgive me, ma'am, but there's a young man outside, asking for Mr. Stark,” he said and the TA looked at him. She had complained a few times that she wanted to go out this evening but Tony had ignored her, wanted to finish his project and now he realized, how late it really was. 

Tony shrugged, he had no idea, he didn't know too many people and so the TA – Lisa something – nodded at the slave and he rose and left, only to reappear a minute later with Clint and a tall, black young man behind him. Tony paled. He had forgotten to fetch Clint again and he jumped to his feet, when he saw the state Clint was in. The slave opened the door and Clint and the other student entered. 

“Are you Tony Stark?” he asked and Tony nodded and went over to them. He let his eyes roam over Clint and he saw the rumpled state he was in. And he was clearly in shock. “This is your slave?” 

“Yes, he is,” Tony nodded and turned to Clint. “Are you okay, Clint?” he asked and put a hand on his shoulder. Clint looked up, tears in his eyes and opened and closed his mouth a few times, but couldn't answer.

“No, he's not okay,” the young man spat. “Some assholes thought they could attack him since he was alone and unsupervised out in the training grounds.” And now Tony realized, that his sweatpants and his slave coat – it had started to get colder – were torn and Clint tried to hide the damage in his clothes. 

“Who did this?” Tony asked and Clint looked from him to the young man and back.

“Dulaque,” the guy spat and it sounded like something disgusting out of his mouth. “Damn frog eater and his frog friends. Completely sloshed, all of them,” he added then.

“What?” Tony blurted and Clint could only nod. He was definitely not okay but with his TA and the other student, he couldn't comfort the boy right here. 

“I was on my way back to my dorm and they shoved him around, hit him,” the young man said and Tony looked up to him. 

“And you helped him?” he asked. 

“Of course. I know that the frogs don't have slaves, so he couldn't be one of theirs and he didn't have the college's logo on his coat or his collar. I thought something was wrong and when Grenouile, that damn bastard, tried to hit _me_ , I clocked him,” he explained and Tony stared at him, mouth agape. 

“Thanks,” he said and the young man only nodded. 

“No one deserves to be bullied, even if he's a slave,” he shrugged and Tony smiled now. 

“Thanks again,” he said. Lisa, who had listened the first few minutes, went back to grab her bag.

“Let's call it a day,” she said and shooed the two students and Clint out of the labs. She didn't even let Tony clean up his workbench, he could only grab his bag and then they stood in the floor and Lisa locked the doors. 

Tony turned to the other boy. “Thanks again... uhm... I didn't get your name,” he said. 

“Rhodes. James Rhodes,” he said and smiled and held out his hand. Tony looked at it for just a tiny moment but then he shook it. 

“Thanks, James,” Tony said then and James smirked. 

“Friends call me Rhodey,” he shrugged and Tony's smile broadened. And then he patted Tony's shoulder and looked at Clint one more time. “Next time you shouldn't let him wait on the training grounds,” he said and Tony blushed.

“No, I won't. Promise.” 

“Okay, see you around,” James... Rhodey said and waved goodbye. Tony waited till he was out of sight before he turned to Clint. 

“What did he do?” he asked carefully and Clint, still pale like a ghost, looked up at him. He had tears in his eyes and swallowed hard, clutching onto his damaged clothes. “Clint, please. What did he do?” 

“He... he...” Clint stopped and swallowed again, licked his lips nervously. “He touched me,” he whispered, barely audible. Tony closed his eyes for a second and gritted his teeth. 

“He touched you? Where?” he wanted to know. He already had a good idea. Even if he wasn't the most attentive observer, he had seen Bernard's glances whenever Clint was around. “Clint, where did he touch you?” he asked again, when Clint didn't answer immediately. 

Clint swallowed once more but then he looked down. And he pointed at his arms, his chest and after a moment of hesitation at his crotch. “There,” he whispered and Tony took a deep breath to calm down his anger. He took Clint's hand.

“Come with me,” he commanded and he didn't even care to let Clint carry his bag, he just dragged him out of the building, over the campus to their residence and when he finally opened the door to their shared room, he found Bernard lounging on the couch, watching TV as if nothing has happened. 

“Clint, my room,” Tony snapped and without hesitation the boy grabbed his bag and disappeared into the bedroom. Tony put himself between the TV and the couch and when Bernard looked at him and raised a brow, he didn't care that the French was taller by a head, he just glared at him. 

“What?” he drawled lazily.

“Did you touch Clint?” he asked calmly and folded his arms in front of his chest. Bernard looked at him and then, after a long moment, he shrugged.

“What if I have?” he returned and raised a brow questioningly.

“He's not yours, you keep your fingers off of my stuff,” Tony spat and Bernard had the nerve to chuckle into his face. 

“He's a slave. Isn't that the reason you have him?” he leered. And Tony snapped. He punched the other guy onto his nose as hard as possible and angry as he was right now, it was pretty damn hard. He heard the crunching sound of Bernard's nose breaking, blood ran over his hand and the guy screamed in pain and shock. 

“You don't touch my stuff! You don't touch Clint ever again, you don't even look at him or I'll end you! Do you understand me?” he yelled and when Bernard didn't answer immediately he repeated it, “Do you understand me?”

“Fuck! Are you crazy?” Bernard screamed and held his bleeding nose. He tried to rise but Tony was already in his face. 

“You don't touch Clint, you don't look at him and you don't talk to him. If you ever look in his direction again, I swear to god, you will regret that. And don't think your or your father's diplomatic immunity will stop me from ripping out your guts to strangle you with them! And that applies to your frog eating bastard friends as well!” He yelled. 

“You will be sorry for that,” Bernard spat now and this time he rose and towered over Tony but the younger boy didn't step back, quite the contrary.

“Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” Tony asked threateningly and Bernard's face darkened in anger. 

“My father...” he started with venom in his voice but Tony interrupted him harshly.

“... will be very pleased when he learns that his son is not only a pedophile but also a criminal. Clint is twelve years old, he's a junior till he's sixteen. Even when slavery is allowed here, it's still forbidden to perform sexual acts with juniors. Do you really think he would want to read about this in the papers? Do you really want to risk his career?” Tony snarled and Bernard finally paled. But Tony didn't wait for an answer this time, he turned on his heel, stomped to his bedroom and slammed the door shut. 

He leaned against the door, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to calm his anger down. 

“Tony?” he heard a tiny voice and finally opened his eyes. He saw Clint in the doorway to the dressing room, shaking violently and pale like a sheet. 

“Are you okay, precious?” Tony asked and walked over to him. Clint half shrugged, half nodded but still held himself upright on the door frame. 

“Are you going to get in trouble now?” he returned without answering Tony's question. He seemed more worried about Tony than himself right now. Tony huffed and looked at him for a long moment and then he shrugged. 

“Yeah, probably,” he admitted and Clint's eyes went even wider. “I mean, I hit him,” he added with a tiny smile.

“You... you hit him? Because he touched me?” Clint wanted to know and Ton shrugged again. 

“No one will touch you inappropriately again,” he said and when he saw Clint shivering, he squinted his eyes. “Clint, did he touch you once before?” Clint cast his eyes down and Tony put his hand under his chin to _force_ him to look at him. “Clint?” After a few moments of silence the boy nodded.

“Yes, a few times,” he said, barely audible. Tony cursed violently and turned to go back to the living room, to punch this bastard again but Clint's hands on his arm stopped him.

“Don't. Don't hit him again, Tony. I don't want you to get in trouble for me,” he said. “I... I...” he licked his lips when Tony turned back to him. “I don't want them to take me away from you,” he added. 

“God, Clint. No one will take you away, I promise,” he huffed again and finally deflated. He sat down on his bed and patted the space beside him and after a tiny moment, Clint sat down. “No one will take you away and no one will touch you again, okay? And if someone dares to touch you, you tell me immediately, do you understand?” 

“Yes, Tony,” Clint murmured but when Tony put his arm around his shoulders and stroked his back, he relaxed and leaned himself against him, Tony. 

“Okay, it's late, precious. Let's go to bed,” Tony murmured and Clint nodded and left to get ready for bed. Tony followed him only a few seconds later. Tomorrow he had to find James Rhodes... Rhodey... and had to thank him properly.

***

Two days later Bernard moved out of the suite. He said, he wanted to take a break – in the middle of the semester – and he packed his stuff and left. Tony didn't care, quite the contrary.

He found out where Rhodey lived and the next time he brought Clint to the training grounds, he didn't go to the library afterwards, he went straight to Rhodey's dorm. A girl directed him to his room and after a deep breath he knocked. Another guy opened the door and looked down at Tony.

“Yeah?” he asked, a brow raised. 

“Is Rhodey here?” Tony asked and the other guy turned his head and a second later he opened the door. He saw Rhodey sit on a bed, a small bed, surrounded by quite some books and he seemed busy. 

“Hey,” he greeted and Rhodey smiled and looked over Tony's shoulder. “He's not here,” Tony said and Rhodey nodded. The older boy shared a glance with his room mate and after a theatrical sigh, the guy left the room and Tony was alone with Rhodey.

“What can I do for you? Need help again?” he asked grinning and Tony shook his head. 

“No,” he smiled. “No, I... I just wanted to thank you again. You know, for helping Clint,” he gestured vaguely with his hand. 

“No need to thank me,” Rhodey said and unfolded his legs to sit properly at the edge of his bed. Tony looked around the small room. Two beds, two wardrobes, two desks, two chairs, no bathroom, no kitchenette, no nothing. And then he had an idea. 

“Yes, I have to thank you. Not many people would've interfered when a slave got attacked. And definitely not, when it's not their own slave. You helped Clint and... and I want to do something for you,” he said and went to pull out one of the chairs and sat down. 

“That's not necessary, Tony, I...” Rhodey started but Tony shook his head and gestured around the room.

“That's pretty small, isn't it? I mean, for two people, right?” Rhodey followed his hand with his eyes and then he shrugged. 

“It's just two more years and then I'm done,” he said and Tony smiled. 

“My room mate moved out and there's half a suite available,” Tony said and Rhodey's eyes nearly popped out of his head. 

“You think I would live in a shoebox like that if I could afford a residential suite?” he asked and Tony shrugged.

“No, but I can,” he said but Rhodey shook his head. 

“You don't have to pay me for helping your slave,” he muttered and glared angrily at Tony.

“That's... that's not... I don't want to _pay_ you,” he sighed and licked his lips. “It's...” he looked around once more. “You seem like a nice guy and you helped Clint without thinking about the consequences and...” Tony stopped. “Think about it, okay? The offer holds, I've talked to Mr. Shulzaberger and... well... the offer holds.” Tony rose, wiped his hands clean on his pants and smiled again. 

Two weeks later Rhodey moved in with Tony.


	3. Chapter 3

It was Tony's nineteenth birthday today. Since he had finished college he worked for his father. It wasn't his dream job but it left him enough time for his own research and since he was the CEO's son no one but his father bothered him. But since his projects turned out to be valuable for the company even his father let him do his own thing. 

This morning his father called him to his office and he had congratulated him and told him, that he and his mother expected him this weekend to celebrate his birthday. Tony huffed and nodded but he was sure he wouldn't go. He didn't live in the family mansion anymore, he had bought himself a penthouse apartment with private elevator after finishing college and he couldn't say that he missed his father's house. And he also didn't miss his parents. He saw his father at work each day and his mom was drunk most of the time and wouldn't even recognize him.

He looked at the wristwatch his father had given him earlier that day and he pursed his lips. Ten more minutes till end of his work day and he turned his desk chair around and stared out of the window. Nine more minutes and he had a weekend off and he wanted to fly to California with Clint, to meet Rhodey and to celebrate his birthday with the people he liked. 

When the big hand pointed at the twelve he started to grin, grabbed his stuff and went to the door. “Have a nice evening, Ms. Johnson,” he waved when he hurried out of his office and he heard his assistant wish him a nice evening as well. His new driver, Happy, waited for him in the parking garage and took the passenger's seat, when Tony was close. He handed him the keys an with a grin Tony started the engine. 

The drive took him only a few minutes and when he left the car he tossed the keys back to Happy. The older man grinned and went to the driver's seat to park the car. But Tony was already in his own elevator on his way to his apartment.

“Clint?” he called as soon as the door fell shut behind him. And then he stopped. The whole apartment smelled delicious. “Clint?” he called again, his brows furrowed, and only a few seconds later the younger boy appeared in the corridor and he looked a little rushed and caught in the act at the same moment.

“You're here,” he breathed and Tony saw the crease in his forehead appear, the one that told him, that Clint was displeased with him. 

“Yeah, I live here, remember?” Tony joked and Clint looked over his shoulder. 

“But you're too early,” he said and licked his lips nervously.

“Is everything okay?” Tony asked and Clint half shrugged, half nodded and then he shook his head.

“No. Can you... can you wait in the living room?” he asked then and Tony frowned. 

“Clint? What's going on?” he asked and Clint licked his lips again. 

“I... can you... please, Tony,” he said and the way he looked at him right now – pleadingly, a little desperate – made Tony's heart melt and he finally nodded. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said and went to the living room. He looked around and found the dining table set with the Dresden china and flower petals on the table cloth. He removed his jacket and threw it onto the backrest of his couch but then he remembered that Clint would scold him for being so messy again and he brought the jacket to the coat-tree beside the entrance door. 

But when he was back in the living room Clint appeared and he had a cake in his hands. A huge chocolate cake with candles on it and an inscription in Clint's clumsy handwriting. 

“Happy Birthday, Tony,” he said when he stood in front of him and he smiled his sweetest smile. Now it was Tony who had to swallow.

“Did you bake that cake?” he asked and when the boy nodded he smiled. Clint had made him a cake. No one had made him a cake before because they wanted to. No one bothered to make him a cake even if Tony loved cake, especially chocolate. 

“Do you... do you like it?” the younger boy asked carefully, the smile faltering a tiny bit, and Tony couldn't help himself, he took the plate with the cake, put it on the dining table and placed both his hands on Clint's cheeks. 

“Yes, I do,” he said and kissed his forehead. Clint's smile broadened again. “So, that's why you insisted to stay at home today?” he asked and Clint blushed.

“Are you mad?” Clint asked and Tony shook his head, smiling. 

“No, why would I be mad?” 

“Because I stayed here to bake a cake instead of accompanying you and complete the equations like you told me?” Clint fiddled with his fingers again. After all the time he still was unsure about his status in this household sometimes.

“Clint,” Tony smiled and kissed his forehead again. “I'm not mad at you. How can I be mad at you? This is the first time someone made a cake for me,” he said and Clint raised his brow.

“Back at the mansion you had a cake every year at your birthday,” he pointed out and Tony huffed a laugh. 

“Yeah, that dry carrot cake no one wanted to eat. But you know what I mean. No one made a cake because they wanted to and that's...” Tony swallowed when he saw Clint fiddle with his hands behind his back again. But then he took a deep breath, moved his arms and gave Tony a small package, wrapped in a piece of a newspaper, he apparently had in his pockets. 

“Is that...” he asked again and looked at the small, wrapped box. 

“For you,” Clint shrugged and blushed again. “It's nothing special, I made it out of scrap metal when you've been in your workshop and forget the world around yourself. It's just...” he licked his lips and blushed even more. “It's just something I made.” 

Tony carefully unwrapped the gift and opened the package. It was the tip of an arrow, formed out of wire and other scraps but it was amazingly precise, perfect symmetric and simply beautiful. On one end was a ring to use it as key chain and Tony stared at it for a very long moment. 

“I know, it's nothing special, just some...” he started but Tony interrupted him, wrapped both arms around him and kissed his forehead again. 

“It's perfect, Clint. I love it,” he said and he actually meant it. He knew, that it really was just scrap metal and garbage but the boy had put time and effort in it, had used his sparse free time to build this for _him_. 

“It's... you know... for luck,” Clint murmured and Tony stroked his back. 

“Thank you,” Tony said and when Clint looked up he smiled at him. 

“You like it?” he asked, a little uncertain but when Tony nodded he smiled as well. 

“Of course I do because you made it for me. It's beautiful,” he said and moved back a bit. He really liked it. He reached into his pocket, took out the keys to his apartment and fastened it to it. Clint's smile broadened. But then he broke away from him, hurried into the kitchen and came back only a few seconds later with the pot of coffee and poured some into the mug on the table, added milk and sugar, just the way Tony liked it and came over to him, took his hand and led him to the table. 

“Do you want to try the cake?” Clint asked and Tony nodded. Carefully Clint cut a piece out of the cake and, with shaking hands, put it on the plate in front of Tony. And then he waited. Tony grabbed the fork and took a bit of the cake and tasted it. Clint looked expectantly at him, licked his lips nervously and waited for him to say something. 

The cake was delicious, fluffy and creamy and chocolaty and he really loved it. “Oh my god, this is... this is perfect, Clint. Where did you learn to bake?” he wanted to know and Clint blushed. 

“In... in the circus. Carson's wife. She was.. she could bake and... and she showed me. And there was a baking recipe book in the kitchen,” he said and Tony nodded. 

“Thank you again, Clint,” Tony said, took Clint's hand, pulled him close and kissed his forehead. 

“Tony?” Clint knelt down beside his chair and Tony inwardly winced. He didn't want him to kneel all the time but since he took the classes slaves had to attend when he was in college he wanted to show him, that he could be a good slave, too. “May I ask you a question?” 

“First, you already did and second, you don't need to ask for permission, Clint. I told you so, right?” Tony mumbled around a bite of cake and Clint blushed slightly, bowed his head for a second but smiled. 

“Of course you did. But...” he looked up and fiddled nervously with his fingers before he placed them in his lap and took a deep breath. “I've heard the other slaves in the laundry room talk today,” he said and Tony furrowed his brows. 

“Okay,” Tony put his fork down and turned to Clint now. 

“I... I know it's not the right moment but... I need to know, Tony,” he locked his eyes with Tony's and then licked his lips again. “Are you going to replace me, too?” 

“Am I... what?” Tony was baffled. He'd expected a lot of things but not _that_. “Why would I replace you?” 

“I... I'm almost sixteen, Tony,” he said as if that was explanation enough but when Tony furrowed his brows he continued. “I... I'm almost of age and then I can't be your body slave anymore. You will need another body slave and...” he stopped, looked at his hands again and licked his lips nervously. “And you have to decide what to do with me. Will you sell me?” 

Tony rose and hunkered down beside Clint. “Who said that?” 

“Luke. The... Master Lorne's body slave. He's... he's new, only a few weeks twelve years old and he said, that his master had sold his former body slave and replaced him with him and Gill and Raina said that, too. They said, that masters ans mistresses don't want old body slaves and since I can't be your body slave anymore when I'm sixteen that you will sell me, too.” 

“Clint, look at me,” Tony said, put his finger under Clint's chin and forced him to look at him. “I've told you I wouldn't sell you, right? You're mine and I will always keep you. I've promised you, right?” Clint nodded. 

“But... what will you do? I mean, you need a body slave, right?” he asked then and Tony sighed. 

“No, I don't need a body slave,” he said and when he saw the shocked expression on the younger boy's face he smiled and cupped his face. “I kept you because I didn't want my father to send you to the factory at first, remember? I didn't have a body slave before and it worked perfectly fine. So, when I have to register you, I'll find a solution and I won't replace you with another body slave. Never. Trust me, Clint,” he said and Clint nodded.

“I trust you,” he whispered and Tony couldn't resist, he kissed his forehead once more. 

“So, and now you get up from that floor and sit down with me. You made the cake, you eat some,” Tony smiled when he pulled Clint up. Clint hurried to the cupboard to get a plate for himself and when he came back Tony pointed at the chair beside him. He sat down and it was Tony who put a piece of the cake on Clint's plate. 

 

 

Later, when Happy came to get them, he had to sit down and eat cake, too. 

“Wow, that's a delicious cake,” the man said and Clint blushed again. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. He still wasn't comfortable with the driver around, even if Tony told him, that he was okay. He behaved even more like a slave when he was here. One day Tony needed to find out, what they told the kids in these classes but on the other hand, he was an unusual slave owner. He was pretty sure that this behavior was, what other owners wanted.

Of course Clint had packed their bags. Tony had told him this morning, that he wanted to fly to Malibu before he went to work and Clint had made a cake and packed his bags, all on his own. 

Just before he entered the elevator to ride down to the garage, Tony hurried back into the kitchen, to the fridge and grabbed the rest of the cake. 

When both, Clint and Happy, looked at him he just shrugged and grinned. “It's too good to let it go stale here,” he said, scooped up a bit of the cream with his finger and licked it off of it. Clint grinned.

***

“So, you still have him?” Rhodey asked and flopped down on the couch beside him, a glass of whiskey in one and a plate with the remains of Clint's cake in the other hand. He gestured at the seemingly overwhelmed boy, who tried to bring some order into the chaos that was his kitchen. But it was futile. About a hundred of people were here, former classmates and fellow students, a few colleagues and lots of girls and guys he'd never seen in his life before. Clint bustled around and tried to keep the chaos at a minimum even if Tony had told him, that there would come someone tomorrow and clean the whole mess.

“Why wouldn't I have him?” He looked at Rhodey, grabbed his own fork and stole a bite from the cake. 

“I don't know. I mean, all of these rich kids,” he gestured around vaguely, “swap their body slaves repeatedly. Only you keep yours.” 

“Clint is not only a slave as you know. I... I could never just give him away. He's... don't laugh, okay? He was more like a little brother when I was younger and now... I...” Tony blushed and Rhodey looked at him for a long moment.

“You love him,” Rhodey said. It sounded a little bit like a question but it was more like a statement and Tony knew that Rhodey knew him. He took a deep breath. 

“Yes,” he whispered, barely audible over the hammering sound of the music. “You're right.” 

“Tony, he's...” 

“What? A slave with no option to decide anything himself? Too young, even for slave standards?” he asked and Rhodey just patted his knee. 

“He's your property,” Rhodey said and Tony let his head drop back. 

“I know,” he sighed and closed his eyes. “God, Rhodey, this is so fucked up.” 

“Tony, I know that you're – technically – an abolitionist. Why don't you give him to someone else and...” 

“No!” Tony blurted and shook his head vehemently. “I know that he's way too young and it's creepy that I have these feelings and... you know. But I also want him to have a life as nice as possible and I can't guarantee that if I give him away. God knows what will happen to him with another owner.” 

Tony looked up and into the open kitchen but he couldn't see Clint anymore. 

“Where is he?” he asked and looked at Rhodey. The other man looked around as well but then he shook his head. 

“I don't know, I can't see him,” he said and rose. Tony got up as well and stood beside him. They both scanned the scene for the boy but he wasn't here. Tony saw a few broken plates on the floor. He slapped Rhodey's chest and pointed at the shards. 

Together the two men went into the kitchen and looked around and then Tony saw red. A few of the guys from his former high-school's football team – he had no idea who invited them but he recognized them immediately – shoved Clint around, mocked him, made fun of him and, most important, they _touched_ him. 

Tony went over, put his hand on the first guy's shoulder, spun him around and punched him in his grinning face and the surprised man went down. The others stopped and stared and then Rhodey was behind him. Tony reached out and pulled Clint away from them. He saw the bruises on his arms and his legs. 

“Come on, dude, we're just having a little fun,” another guy said while the one Tony had punched struggled back to his feet and glared angrily at him but when he saw Rhodey towering beside him he deliberated if he should hit back. 

“No one!” Tony spat and wrapped his arms protectively around Clint. “No one is allowed to touch him!” 

“It's just a slave, Tony. What can...” He spun around and glared at the guy who just grinned lecherous at Clint. The boy had tears in his eyes and trembled. 

“No! One! Touches! Clint!” Tony snarled, turned around and looked at the boy. “Clint, honey, go to our bedroom and lock the door behind you. Rhodey will come with you,” he said, looked at Rhodey and nodded. 

“Sure,” Rhodey said when Clint nodded, too. Angrily Tony spun back to his guests. 

“No one touches my stuff,” he spat then when he realized his mistake from earlier. It was quiet in the whole house and everyone looked at him, lots of people shook their heads or huddled together and whispered to each other. But Tony was so furious. 

“O-kay,” one of the guys in front of him said and looked at his comrades and the people started to leave the kitchen, leave the living room, leave his house and it became quiet. The DJ stood behind his console and looked at him questioningly and Tony huffed in frustration. 

“Party is over,” he muttered and the man nodded and started to pack up. 

With a sigh he went to the bedroom and found the door locked as he had instructed. He knocked and Rhodey opened the door. But the bedroom was empty and Tony looked at him, his brows furrowed. Rhodey didn't say a word but he pointed at the walk-in closet. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Thanks, man,” he murmured and Rhodey smiled and patted his shoulder. And when the older man left he went to the closet, opened the door and went in. He found Clint in the small nook between the shoe-rack and the dresser, his legs pulled to his body. When he saw Tony he ducked his head and placed his hands over it. But Tony just sat down on the ground in front of him and looked at him for a while till he was calm again. 

“I'm sorry,” Clint murmured and Tony sighed audibly. When the boy looked up, confused, Tony patted his knee.

“It wasn't your fault. Honestly, I have no idea why they were even here – I definitely didn't invite them - but everyone knows that there are boundaries what they are allowed to touch,” Tony said and Clint looked up. He smiled and the boy frowned at him. 

“But I've ruined your birthday party. You need to punish me,” Clint said and now Tony raised one brow and cocked his head. 

“No,” he replied and sighed when Clint wanted to complain. “ _They_ ruined my birthday party, not you. And they are gone now, you can come out,” Tony held out his hand but Clint didn't take it immediately. Only when he rose and grabbed Clint's hand, the boy let himself be dragged out of his nook and followed Tony into the living room, where Rhodey sat at the bar and slurped a funny colored drink. 

“And now it's time for your punishment,” Tony suddenly said and flopped down at the huge couch and patted the space beside him. When Rhodey opened his mouth, Tony grinned and continued. “You're supposed to watch the whole Star Wars trilogy with us.” 

“But... but they are awful,” Clint complained and Tony's grin broadened. 

“Yes, that's why we call it punishment,” he chuckled and started the movie. Clint sat down beside him, folded his arms in front of his chest and glared at the screen when Rhodey took a seat at the other couch. Tony put his arm around his shoulder and - after a few minutes of hesitation - Clint snuggled up against him. And half an hour later he snored into his arm. 

“You're way too _soft_ ,” Rhodey chuckled with air quotes and Tony kissed Clint's hair.


	4. Chapter 4

“You have to decide, Tony. It's of age now. Do you want to keep it? Or should I send it to one of the factories?” Howard leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. Clint knelt at his side and looked up at Tony but he placed a hand reassuringly at his shoulder. 

“I've told you, Dad, don't call him _it_. And no, you don't send him to the factory. Clint stays with me.” 

“Then you have to register it... him. I mean him,” Howard corrected himself but Tony knew he just did it to appease him, Tony. 

“Is that really necessary?” Tony huffed, sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean, I have him for four years now and...” 

“He's sixteen, the age where free people can officially get enslaved. He needs to be registered as mature slave.” 

“It's in his papers that he's a child of one of our slaves,” Tony pointed out. 

“I know that, Tony. But still, you need to register him. It's mandatory and you know it.” Tony felt Clint move slightly and he leaned closer to him. He put his hand on Clint's head and petted him and the younger boy relaxed noticeable. 

“Fine. Ms. Johnson can make an appointment.” Tony put his hands onto the armrests and pushed himself up. Clint rose as well in a fluid and graceful movement and when Tony left the office he followed him, always half a step behind him and to his right. He went to the car and Happy opened the door. Both, he and Clint, climbed into the back of the limousine. Clint knelt at his feet as usual even if Tony had told him more than once that he should sit beside him. 

“What...” Clint started and looked up at him. He swallowed hard and tried again. “What does that mean getting registered? What will they do?” 

“Honestly? I have no idea. I've skipped the slave management classes, as you know. But I guess they will take your data for their database and you get your SIN.” Tony put his hand on Clint's shoulder again and the slave touched it with his own.

“Will you be there?” Clint looked at him and Tony leaned down to caress him. 

“Of course, precious.” He cupped Clint's face and got a trusting smile in response. 

Happy drove them to his apartment. He and Clint rode up to the apartment and Clint took Tony's jacket and put it on the hanger before he brought it to the closet. 

“Do you want something to eat or to drink, Tony?” Clint asked and he shook his head. 

“No. I'm tired. We're going to bed,” he said and the younger man hurried over to the bedroom. He readied himself – brushed his teeth at record speed – and then the bed for Tony and knelt beside it to wait for him. Tony went to the bathroom and a few minutes later he came back, took Clint's hand and pulled him up. With a grin he climbed into the bed and Clint laid down beside him.

Clint turned onto his right side and Tony pressed himself against his back, wrapped his arm around Clint's middle. The younger boy snuggled up to his owner and let himself be cradled.

“Tony?” Clint murmured and turned his head.

“Yeah, precious?” 

“You promise that you'll be there with me?” Tony could hear the nervousness in his voice and petted his hair.

“Of course, precious. I will always be there for you.” 

“Thank you, Tony.”

***

Two days later Clint had an appointment at the State Slave Process Center. Happy drove him and Clint to the building. Tony could see that Clint was really nervous, he was tense and anxious and Tony wished, he could just free him and take him home with him, as free man. But before he could do this Clint needed to be registered and had to be in his possession – as registered slave – for two and a half more years.

When they left the limousine Tony had to concentrate to not roll his eyes. Of course his father was here. As it seemed he didn't trust him to 'do it right'.

“Dad,” Tony greeted him but Howard only nodded and went to the door. A young, naked man opened the door and let them in.

“Welcome to the SSPC, Masters,” a young woman – completely naked as all slaves here at SSPC – came over to them, bowed and greeted them. 

“My name is Tony Stark. I'm here to register my slave,” he said and the young woman bowed her head. Tony looked at Clint and nodded reassuringly when he sensed his fear. “Please follow me, Masters,” the woman said and Tony nodded again. She led the three to a luxurious furnished waiting room where Tony sat down in an armchair while Clint knelt beside his feet. Howard sat down on the couch while Tony once more leaned over and petted Clint's hair. 

“Everything will be all right, Clint,” he said and felt the boy at his feet relax slightly. But then he sighed and turned his head and smiled at his owner. 

“You can do the paperwork alone?” Howard suddenly asked and Tony frowned. “I've seen someone I want to talk to.” He didn't wait for an answer, he just rose and left the room. Tony didn't care whom he had seen, he needed to take care of Clint.

The female slave came back with a tray in her hand. She knelt in front of Tony and he saw a stack of papers on the tray. “You need to fill in these forms, Master,” she said quietly. “May I offer you something to drink? Or a snack?” Tony looked at Clint and then he shook his head. 

“No, we're fine.” The woman was clearly shocked that he had considered to ask his slave if he wanted something but then she left the room and and let the two of them alone. Tony took the pen and started to fill in the forms but after a few minutes he huffed frustrated. 

“Damn, I shouldn't've skipped those damn classes,” he mumbled. “What's that supposed to mean? Standard registration? Added services?” 

“I don't know, Tony,” Clint admitted but the nervousness and the fear was back.

“Okay, I guess we'll go for the standard registration, right?” 

“Of course, Tony,” Clint said and Tony could feel him touch his leg slightly. 

“Everything will be alright, Clint,” he repeated not only to reassure the slave but also himself but when he looked at Clint he saw the trust in his eyes. 

When he was finished with the forms he rang the bell and the female slave came back. Tony gave her the forms and she left with them and a few minutes later a man came in. He was about sixty and wore an expensive suit. 

“Mr. Stark. My name is Charles Henderson. Welcome to the State Slave Process Center.” He greeted and held his hand out for Tony to shake it. And then the man looked down at Clint who still knelt beside his feet. “That's a nice pet you have here,” he grinned smug and Tony had to refrain himself from hitting the guy right here.

“He needs to be registered,” Tony said instead and handed him the forms and Clint's former papers with his underage registration. He knew that they were forged since his father had bought him and he wasn't the child of one of their slaves as the papers said but it didn't matter right now. When Clint was registered then he was Tony's and that meant Tony could do to him whatever he wanted. And in two years he could free him. 

The man skimmed through the forms and Clint's papers. “You want the standard registration?” He looked up at him. 

“Uhm... yes?” Tony petted Clint's hair once again and felt the boy lean against him. 

“Okay,” Henderson smiled and gestured at the door. Tony nodded at Clint and together – Clint a step behind Tony – they followed Henderson. They stopped in front of a large door and Henderson waved two guards over. 

“Standard registration,” he said and the two men nodded and took Clint's arms. 

“Tony?” the boy asked and Tony looked at Henderson. 

“That's the usual procedure,” the man said and the guards led Clint through the doors. But when Tony wanted to follow them Henderson stopped him. “I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, it's our policy that owners are not allowed in there.” 

“What?” Tony turned violently to Henderson and glared at him but then he heard Clint's voice again. 

“Tony?” He looked over his shoulder while the guards closed the door. Tony tried to get to him again but once more Henderson stopped him. 

“Please, Mr. Stark. You don't want to cause a scene,” Henderson murmured and Tony stepped back but he glared murderous at him. “If you want to see what happens to your pet you can watch it on screen in one of the waiting rooms.” 

“Please,” he spat and Henderson gestured for one of their service slaves – a pretty young man – to lead him back to the waiting room. The young man went to the screen and searched for Clint in the processing section and explained everything they're going to do with him. Tony saw him in a line with other young slaves. He saw that he was really nervous because the guards had removed his slave shorts. 

The first thing they did was taking a set of photos from all sides and his whole body before they sent him with his group to one of the operatives to measure and weigh him. They took his fingerprints, blood, urine, hair and then he had to masturbate to give them a semen sample and Tony knew that Clint was shy. When he shook his head one of the guards came over and talked to him. Clint once again shook his head and then the guard touched him with his nightstick and Tony saw his slave jump back and scream out. Another guard came to him and threatened him as well and finally Clint reached down and took his cock in his hand while the other slaves, the guards and the operative watched him.

“Oh fuck!” Tony muttered when he saw the pain, the confusion, the shame and the fear in Clint's eyes and he decided to bash the guards heads in as soon as they brought Clint back. The operative took the samples and the group, Clint was in, was led to the next station. The new slaves had to shower, all of them together, and then work slaves handed them bathing caps and they had to put them on their heads before they got sprayed with some reddish liquid. They had to rub it into their bodies and after a few minutes they got hosed and Tony saw the result. Each tiny hair – he really didn't have that much – was gone. Only the hair on his head were still there but then a operative with a clipper cut them down to a few millimeters. He looked so miserable and Tony cursed the slave who was with him in the waiting room and Henderson and the SSPC for the umpteenth time.

“What are they going to do now?” Tony asked when he saw an operative divide the group. 

“The uncut are going to be circumcised, Master,” the slave said and Tony paled. 

“No. No!” He yelled and ran out of the waiting room to the large door but other guards caught him and held him. Henderson appeared again. 

“Mr. Stark, please. Calm down. That's what you've wanted. And, you know, a slave shouldn't be able to hide anything from your view.” He explained and Tony stared at him.

“What?!” he spat and Henderson sighed and gestured for him to follow him. With the guards in tow they went back to the waiting room and Tony saw Clint waiting with other slaves in front of a door. 

“You wanted the standard registration, Mr. Stark, and that's what we're doing here.” 

“But... you can't just cut off his foreskin...” 

“Our doctors are qualified, Mr. Stark and they know what they do.” Tony stared at Henderson and then at the screen when the waiting service slave pointed at it. A doctor in scrubs led Clint into the room and now Tony could see the waiting chair. It looked like a gynecological examination chair with stirrups but also with straps. He saw him try to step back but the doctor gestured for someone and guards came in. They grabbed Clint and shoved him to the chair and he struggled. 

“Don't. Don't struggle, Clint. They hurt you,” Tony murmured and stared at the screen where the guards touched him with their shocking sticks again and when he screamed they wrestled him onto the chair. It was futile, though. The guards were twice Clint's size and used to reluctant slaves and in an instant they had him restrained, his hands tied over his head, a strap over his stomach and then they forced his legs into the stirrups and tied them. Tony saw him screaming and he could read his lips. He screamed for him, Tony, and this fucker Henderson didn't let him in to Clint.

“What are they doing?” Tony yelled at Henderson and the man raised his hands in a defensive gesture to calm him. 

“It gets its circumcision, its brand and its SIN, Mr. Stark.” 

“A... a brand?” Tony, who had looked at the screen to see Clint struggle against his bindings, turned around violently. 

“The brand is obligatory, Mr. Stark. You know that,” Henderson said and held Tony back. One of the doctors heated an iron while the guards prevented that Tony left the waiting room. And then he could see Clint scream in pain when the hot iron touched the skin on his left hip and once again he saw him screaming for him but he was unable to help him and he hated every second. Clint didn't deserve such a treatment but no one cared about him and Tony, who cared, wasn't allowed to be with him. 

“Please, Mr. Henderson. Let me go to him. He needs me,” Tony pleaded when he saw his slave in pain.

“I know it's your first time here, Mr. Stark. But they are just slaves, not humans. Don't confound that.” 

“Are they going to give him something for the pain?” Tony asked and Henderson furrowed his brows and stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. 

“Of course not. The initial registration is to remind a slave of its status. It has to take everything its owner gives to it, be it pleasure or pain.” He apparently recited from the textbook.

“You... you...” Tony bit his lip before he said something that could get him in troubles. “Give him something for the pain.” 

“It's a slave, Mr. Stark. It has to get used to pain. What if you have to punish it? There will be pain, too.” 

“Clint... Clint is a sweetling and the most obedient slave ever. I never had to punish him since I have him and I don't want him in pain. Give him something.” 

“I'm afraid it's too late for that,” Henderson sighed and pointed at the screen where Tony could see the doctor between Clint's legs doing something obviously painful because the boy's back arched as far as the straps allowed it but the other man held his hips down and he couldn't fight. He was alone, helpless and in pain and this fucker Henderson didn't let him in to him. Tony could read his lips. 'Help me, Tony, please'. 

“I swear to god, Henderson, you will regret this day if you don't let me to my boy immediately,” Tony growled and glared furiously at the older man. 

“I've told you, Mr. Stark, this is not possible. It's against our regulations and against the regulations in all the SSPCs in this country. It is not allowed.” 

But then Tony's eyes went back to the screen and his eyes went wide. Clint's back arched again and he screamed but the guards held him, relentless, and he saw him again screaming for him. “Stop! Hurting! Him!” Henderson sighed and nodded at a slave outside of the door.

“We're almost finished, Mr. Stark. We only need to tattoo and chip it and then you can take its cherry.” 

“I... what!?” Tony saw the slave appear in the room with the doctors and talk to him and they stopped finally. The slave left the room afterwards.

“You've declared it as pleasure slave and... all of the owners do it right here but if you don't want to do it yourself we provide a lot of trained slaves to...” 

“No! No one touches Clint anymore!” Tony poked his finger in Henderson's chest and made sure that it was painful.

“Do you want to redefine it?” Henderson asked and Tony folded his arms in front of his chest.

“You tell me right now what I can do and what exactly that means,” he spat and Henderson nodded. The slave came back and knelt down behind Henderson.

“You can declare it as stud, then it needs to prove its functionality with a bitch we provide. You can declare it as work slave but then it needs to be castrated to calm it. If you declare it as fighter then it's the same as now since slaves fight _to the fuck_ , as you know, which means, someone - either you ore one of our service slaves - needs to take its cherry.” Right now Tony wanted nothing more than to knock out Henderson's teeth and cut of his balls, just because. 

“So. It's either _I_ rape him here in front of all of you or some other slave rapes him or you're going to mutilate him.” Tony growled and Henderson swallowed when he saw his anger.

“What's going on here?” Howard was back and looked from Tony to Henderson and back.

“Dad, they want me to...” Tony started but Howard cut him short with a harsh gesture. He looked at Henderson now and the older man licked his lips.

“As I've explained to your son, this pet is declared as pleasure slave and... all of the owners do it right here...” Henderson started. With and angry glare Howard interrupted him.

“He'll do it,” he stated and when Tony opened his mouth to protest Howard shook his head. “He will do it.” He repeated. “Tiberius Stone is here and I want to talk to him. Don't embarrass yourself, Anthony. You'll do what's necessary,” he said and wanted to leave but Tony held him back.

“You want me to hurt Clint?” He asked incredulously.

“You forget one thing, Anthony. Officially, until you're twenty-one, this pet belongs to me. If you want to keep it, you'll do it.” Howard didn't wait for an answer, he nodded at Henderson and left the room again.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, but that's standard procedure, as you maybe know from your slave management classes,” Henderson said apologetically.

“I got my high-school diploma with fifteen, I didn't have all the classes.” Tony glared at him.

“Do you want a copy of the regulations?” Henderson asked now. 

“No. Fine, proceed.” He gnashed his teeth and turned to stare at the screen again. Henderson nodded at the waiting slave and he hurried out and gave the doctors the instruction to finish Clint. He saw one of the guys take something like a stamp, fiddle around with it and then press it to the inside of Clint's left forearm. When he was done with it he took a tattoo gun and tattooed the number on him and he could see the tears on Clint's face. He had to be in a great deal of pain and he, Tony, couldn't be there with him. He hated Henderson and the regulation and the SSPC and his father and everyone right now. When the number was fixed on Clint's arm the guards opened the bindings that held his arms and tied them to the stirrups and this looked quite uncomfortable.

“What are they doing now?” Tony asked and Henderson, who was still here with him, told him that they would implant a locator chip between Clint's shoulder blades. 

“Why between the shoulder blades?” He frowned.

“It's the one place where a slave can't remove it itself if it tries to flee.” Henderson explained and Tony nodded slowly. That made sense. One of the doctors grabbed a syringe with a thick needle and Tony saw Clint's eyes go wide and he shook his head again, screamed for him and he had to close his eyes. He couldn't see his sweet, little boy in so much pain. It's his fault. He should've brought him away, to a country where slavery was illegal. He could've spared him all this but because he was selfish, he didn't want to let Clint go, caused him to be in pain now. Tony knew that Clint loved him, he had said it so often and he loved the pretty boy as well. He wanted to free him as soon as the laws allowed it so Clint could stay here legally, with him, forever. It was all his fault. He should've saved him. 

The other doctor took a chip reader and checked, if the chip worked and when he nodded pleased the guards came in and opened his restrains. Clint nearly slumped down as soon as he was on his own feet and only the fast reaction of one of the men holding him prevented that he fell down. They led him out and now Henderson turned to Tony.

“Would you please follow me, Mr. Stark?” He smiled and gestured with his hand. Tony nodded sourly and Henderson – accompanied by his service slave – led him to another room where he he nearly puked onto the floor. In the huge room were padded benches with young men and women tied onto them and their owners or provided slaves fucked them. And the slaves didn't seem to be too excited. Other men and women could sit on soft looking couches, being attended by service slaves, and watch the scenery. 

“What the fuck!” Tony couldn't hold back and he stared at the mostly very young slaves getting forcibly deflowered with utmost horror on his face. “You expect me to... to... do _that_ to Clint in _here_? Seriously?” He just spat at Henderson but then he heard a voice calling his name and he turned around to see his father and Obadiah Stane, together with a few men he knew and hated. Tiberius Stone, Justin Hammer and Aldrich Killian. 

“Tony,” Stane said when he came over to him, Howard and the other men in tow. “What a lucky coincidence. Justin is here to register a few of his own slaves and I met Ty and Aldrich on my way over here. I wanted to see what they have, maybe I'm going to replace Pepper.” Stane smirked. “So, where's your little pet?” 

“Tony!” Right on cue he heard Clint's voice from behind as he was led into the room by guards, dragged over to an empty bench and tied down and Henderson went over to them.

“Oh, you still have it?” Ty asked and cocked his head. 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Tony snapped and Stone raised his hands in a defensive gesture.

“I mean, you had that pet when we were in college and you still have it? I've thought you might have replaced it by... I don't know... something younger, prettier.” 

“You're an asshole, Ty. I will never sell him and I'm sure as hell won't replace him.” Tony spat and the men shared strange glances. Howard shook his head slightly and leaned over to him.

“Don't call it _him_ in public, Tony. People might think you're attached to your pet.” 

“Fuck you, you know! Fuck all of you!” Tony wanted to turn around when Henderson appeared behind him. 

“Your pet is ready for you, Mr. Stark.” The older man smiled and the only thing he wanted to do right now was to wipe that smile off of his face. 

“Oh, you'll love that part, Tony,” Justin smirked and strolled over to the bench where Clint was tied to. He lay on his stomach, his wrists and ankles tied to the legs of the bench. His cock was pulled back so that it hung down, so that Tony could inspect it and what he saw made him nauseous. There was a ring through his glans and one through his perineum.

“What the fuck is that?” He turned violently to Henderson but it was Killian who answered. 

“Have you been living under a rock, Tony? It's a pleasure slave, right? That's its chastity piercing. You lock those two rings together and it can't get an erection.” Tony looked again at Clint. 

“You've skinned _and_ pierced him all at once?” He painfully stabbed his finger in Henderson's chest again. 

“Mr. Stark, it's a slave, nothing more than an animal.” Henderson said and Tony made a step in his direction. And he would have hit him right there if not for Howard and Obie, who held him back. 

“Anthony, pull yourself together, for heaven's sake! You can fuss about it at home as long as you want but don't make a scene in public. You're ruining your reputation and the reputation of SI! And now, go over and do what's necessary and then take your pet and go home with it.” Stane hissed. Tony looked at Clint, at the pain in his face and... something was different with his eyes. Something was missing.

“Come on, Anthony. Get finished and then take your pet home,” Howard said again and Tony had to swallow when he saw the emptiness in Clint's eyes.

“Yeah,” he pressed through his teeth and went over to Clint but when he touched him, touched his back, he flinched. 

“T-tony?” he quietly asked and Tony closed his eyes. He couldn't do it. He couldn't. Not when he had to hear him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and then turned to Henderson. 

“Mr. Henderson, can you...” he took a deep breath but the other man understood.

“You want it gagged?” Tony nodded and Henderson gestured at the waiting service slave to get him a gag. 

“Tony, please... don't...” Clint pleaded and his voice was rough from crying. Tony felt bad, really bad. Howard was right. Clint was – according to the law – just property and apparently he had to take him right here and now. But he didn't want to. He really didn't want to. He always wanted to save _that_ for the day when Clint was free and now... now he had to hurt him and all the men and women could and would look at him. But he knew that he couldn't do it if he had to hear him. That would be too much. 

The slave came back with a ball gag in his hand and went over to Clint to gag him but Tony stopped him. He took the gag himself and went down in front of Clint, cupped his face with one hand and smiled at him. 

“I'm sorry, precious,” he stroked Clint's cheek and the boy nodded slowly. “Will you be a good boy and open your mouth for me?” 

“Please, Tony. You don't need the gag. I'll be good for you. I'll be quiet. Please...” Clint whispered. Tony petted the younger man, moved his thumb over Clint's lips and Clint finally opened his mouth. 

“That's my good boy,” Tony praised him and Clint closed his eyes when Tony buckled the strap of the gag behind his head. His breath sped up and Tony saw him shiver, his hands clenched and unclenched continuously, something he only did when he was under stress. He rose and walked around him, touched his back to soothe him but instead he made the bound boy flinch. 

“Come on, Anthony. Get done with it,” Howard hissed and he looked at him, at Stane, at Hammer, at Stone and at Killian and all of them seemed... well... disappointed, so to speak. They couldn't understand that he was so attached to his pet and he could see it in their faces and that made it even worse for him. He needed to hurt Clint and all the people around here wanted to see his boy in pain. Tony's stomach turned at the thought of hurting his good little boy to the amusement of those assholes, especially because he never had had a reason to hurt Clint before and now... now he needed to hurt him so much. 

Tony touched Clint's naked ass carefully and he flinched again, shook his head and now he was glad that he couldn't see him because he was sure that he wouldn't be able to stand his expression. Howard nodded in his direction and now Tony saw other people look at them and he knew, he knew that they made a scene here but when the finally opened his pants and touched his cock it was still flaccid. He had had many dates, with women and with men, but now he had no idea how to get hard. He started to stroke himself and he tried to think of his last encounters, he thought of Olivia and Marcel and Sharon and it took all his willpower and dirty fantasy to get something like an erection. He was still only half hard when he slicked his cock with the lube – of course they would give _him_ lube but it was for his benefit and not for the slaves – and lined himself up against Clint's entrance and when Howard nodded again he shoved in in one single thrust. It was awful and the sorry excuse for an erection he had wilted away when he heard Clint scream into his gag in agony. He just had to keep going for a few more seconds and then pretend to orgasm and then he could leave together with Clint. But that wasn't easy. 

Clint struggled against the straps that held him relentless in position, he squeezed his ass together and the noises he made were the worst Tony had ever had to hear. Only a few seconds, he needed only a few seconds but Clint didn't make it easy and he had no idea how to continue this farce without hurting Clint and himself more than necessary. Clint needed to stop struggling. Immediately. And then he looked up at Howard and with a swallow he lifted his hand and swatted Clint's ass, hard. The boy stopped struggling immediately and Tony could feel him getting stiff and quiet. _Sorry, Clint. I'm so sorry,_ he thought and shoved in a few more times and then he felt himself harden again. Clint felt so good, so warm and tight around his cock and Tony couldn't repress a groan and when he saw the smug smirks on the faces of his audience he knew they had heard it as well. He started to move faster, to finish as soon as possible and after a few more thrusts he felt an orgasm well up and with a hoarse moan he shot his load into Clint's body. Howard smirked smug at him when he could take in his surroundings again.

But when he pulled out he saw blood stains on his dick and Clint's entrance was bloody as well. He saw drops run over his skin and fall down to the floor and he nearly puked right then and there. Carefully Tony touched his back but the boy flinched violently and that was worse than a slap into his face. He went around and knelt beside the bench. Clint didn't look at him, his eyes were directed to the ground but when Tony touched his chin he looked up and Tony saw his swollen eyes and the tear stains on his pretty face. He opened the strap that held the gag and out of the corner of his eye he saw Henderson gesture at the guards to release Clint from the bench. He shivered but he didn't say a word when the gag was gone. He just turned his eyes back to the floor the moment Tony removed his hand. 

“Are we done here?” Tony snapped at Henderson but he realized the same moment he should've moved away a bit because Clint flinched again.

“Are you satisfied with our work?” Henderson asked and Tony wanted to rise and beat the living daylight out of him but then Howard put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Yes, Mr. Henderson, he's satisfied,” he answered instead of Tony and when the younger man tried to shake it off, Howard tightened his grip. “Right, Anthony?” he asked and squeezed his shoulder painfully.

“Yes, I am satisfied,” he pressed through his teeth and the guards opened the bindings that held Clint on the bench. He held his hand out for Clint to take it and he ignored the fact that the slave hesitated for a few seconds before he finally took it. “We're leaving,” he said and deliberated if he should put an arm around Clint but when he thought about him flinching he decided against it and led him out only by his hand. 

Happy waited for them and opened the car door as soon as he spotted Tony. Together with Clint he climbed into the back of the stretch limousine and waited till Happy had closed the door. 

“Are you okay, precious?” he asked, fully aware what a stupid question this was, but he needed to say something. Clint nodded and then he knelt down at his feet quietly. “Clint,” he said, his voice thick with emotions. 

“Master Henderson was right, Master. I'm just a dumb animal and I have to take whatever you give me, be it pleasure or pain,” Clint mumbled, his eyes cast to the floor. Tony leaned down and wanted to touch him again but once more he flinched. He swallowed hard and sat back as far as possible. 

“First of all, Clint, you don't call that bastard Master and you don't need to call me Master as well and you know that.” 

“Yes, Tony.” 

Tony closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. The way he called him Tony sounded like back then, when he had gotten Clint, when his way to call him _Tony_ was just another way to call him master. 

“Clint, please...” Tony leaned down and this time he didn't hesitate, he touched Clint with one finger under his chin and with soft power he _forced_ him to look at him. Once again he thought something was wrong with Clint's eyes and then it hit him. He realized the unconditional trust was gone in Clint's eyes but it was replaced with fear and pain.

***

Tony found him in his closet, huddled in a tight corner, his legs drawn to his body and his arms wrapped around him. He had placed his forehead on his knees and he looked like a picture of misery. Tony knew that he only hid in the closet when he was too scared and in the last years he didn't do that anymore. It was his favorite hiding space when he was a little boy, when he had gotten him.

Carefully Tony sat down beside him, touched his leg with his own and waited if he wanted to say something. But Clint kept quiet and Tony tried to resist to pet his hair, but failed. Clint flinched again and once more he wished he could go back and beat Henderson to a bloody pulp. He had made him hurt his lovely boy so badly and he, Tony, had now to deal with the aftermath. 

“Come on, Clint. Get out of this closet,” he finally murmured after a long while. They both just sat together and Tony nudged Clint's knees with his from time to time to show him that he was still here.

“I don't want to, ma... Tony.” He heard the muffled response. And he knew that he should punish him. A slave always has to give proper answers to his Master but he couldn't care less. All he wanted was his old Clint back, the boy who was a slave but also his best friend, who made him laugh and who cared for him and for whom he could care. 

“Have you eaten?” he asked after a few more minutes and the boy beside him shook his head. 

“Not hungry,” he murmured and Tony sighed. It was two days since they'd been in the State Slave Processing Center and since then he hid in the closet and only left it when he was sure that he was alone to use the bathroom. Maybe he drank a few handfuls of water but Tony wasn't entirely sure about that. 

“Please, you have to eat, Clint.” Tony slowly moved his hand to his head again and brushed a few hairs behind his ears. 

“Why?” Clint moved his head and looked at Tony with one eye. 

“Because I want you to stay healthy,” he explained and with his thumb he started to stroke his temple, very carefully and Clint sniffled slightly but moved his head away again. 

“You've promised to stay with me, Tony. I believed you.” 

Tony had to close his eyes. Yes, he had promised it and he had failed him. “I'm sorry, precious. They didn't let me come along. They said it's not allowed that owners enter the processing area.” 

Clint moved his head again and scrutinized him and Tony felt slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. His eyes were so sharp, like an eagle's or a hawk's.

“You hurt me. You've also promised that you would never hurt me and you hurt me more than the others. This, the tattooing, the branding, the skinning and the piercing, I could take that. But you... I've trusted you, Tony.” 

“I know. And I'm sorry. But Henderson said it's part of the processing and it could be either me or some slave and I didn't want it to be someone else.” 

“You wanted to hurt me yourself?” Clint asked, his voice raised and Tony saw a muscle twitch at his chin. 

“It would've been far more painful if someone else, someone who didn't care for you, had done it. They would've hurt you really badly and I did it myself to keep the pain as low as possible.”

“You should've let it do one of the slaves there,” Clint murmured and put his head back onto his knee. And it hit him. If he had let a slave take Clint he could shove it away like the other things they had done but since it was him, Tony, he always had to see the man who did _that_ to him every day. 

“Come on, Clint, please leave the closet. Come with me.” Tony tried again and Clint lifted his head.

“Are you asking me, Tony? Or are you ordering me?” 

“I'm begging you. I miss you, Clint. Please come down. I need you, you know?” 

“I would like to stay here if you don't order me, Tony.” Tony huffed and nodded but then he rose and left the closet, went to the kitchen to prepare something to eat for Clint and brought the plate with sandwiches to Clint and placed it beside him.

“Eat at least the sandwiches, Clint.” He said and there was the same question in his eyes as before. Was it a question or was it an order. “It's an order,” Tony added and the boy looked at him for a very long moment before he nodded and took one of the sandwiches. 

“Yes, Master.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Tony?” he heard a familiar voice asking when he picked up the receiver of his phone. It was Obadiah Stane.

“Yeah, it's me,” Tony said.

“I need you to come to New York immediately,” Stane said and his voice sounded strange. Tony had never heard him sound like this. 

“What happened?” He asked and he had a bad feeling. A really bad feeling. 

“Your parents, Tony. They... they are dead,” Stane told him quietly and Tony stared at the phone for a long moment.

“What?” he blurted then and had to sit down.

“They... there was a car accident. Your father, he... he was drunk and drove and... you need to come as soon as possible. I've already sent the SI jet to you,” Obie told him and Tony nodded and then he realized, that he couldn't see it through the phone. 

“Thanks, Obie,” he said then and wiped his face with his hand. His dad, his mom, both dead. He sat there and still stared at the wall opposite of him when a soft hand touched his shoulder.

“Tony?” Clint asked and knelt down beside him. Tony looked at him.

“They are dead,” he whispered. 

“Who, Tony?” Clint wanted to know. Tony swallowed hard. 

“My... my parents. They had an accident and... they are dead,” he said.

“Oh, Tony,” Clint murmured, rose and wrapped his arms around him. Tony went stiff for a moment but then he put his own arms around Clint, pulled him close and felt a tear running over his face. He and his parents weren't close but they were his parents. “I'm sorry.” 

“I... I don't know what to do?” Tony swallowed again and looked at Clint. “I have no idea what to do now.”

“At the time when my parents died and the CPS took us in they called an undertaker. And the undertaker took care of everything,” he said. 

“Oh, right.” Tony looked again at the younger boy. “You're parents died, too.”

“Yes, Tony,” Clint murmured and stroked his back. “I'm so sorry.” 

Tony didn't... couldn't say a word, he just held Clint in his arms and every now and then he felt a tear run over his face even if he wasn't sure why he cried. 

Clint still stroked his back and waited till Tony recollected himself. He just sat beside him and held him. 

“I...” Tony said and looked up after a while, “I need to fly to New York. Obie sent the jet.” 

“I know.” Clint nodded. “Do you want me to pack our stuff?” 

“No.” Tony shook his head. “Only my stuff. You don't have to accompany me. You can stay here, precious. I know that you don't like to go back to New York. Not after what happened there.” 

“Tony,” Clint started but Tony shook his head again.

“No, it's okay. I... I can handle that,” he said. 

“But I don't want you to have to, Clint. My parents, Obie... what they forced me to do to you... _I_ haven't forgiven them and I don't want you to have to face them, even if my father is dead now. Stay here. Chill.” 

“I can't chill, Tony,” Clint said scandalized. 

“Why not? No one will be here, just you, You, Dumm-E and Butterfingers. And JARVIS.” Tony shrugged. 

“But...” Clint started again and once more Tony shook his head.

“It's an order, precious, okay? You stay here and chill. There's nothing to do JARVIS and the bots can't do,” Tony said. “I don't want Obie and whoever else is coming close to you.” 

Clint finally nodded. “Thank you.”

***

Tony came alone to his parents funeral. He had left his pet in Malibu. Obadiah was a little disappointed at first but then he realized, that this was probably his best chance to get rid of that little shit. Today was Howard's and Maria's wake and it was amazing what the guys from the funeral home had managed to do. They looked as if they were just sleeping.

Obie watched Tony. The boy sat in the first row in the chapel and accepted the condolences of lots and lots of people. He knew that Tony wanted his pet, his _confidant_ , with him and that's why he, Obie, had to get rid of the slaveboy. As fast as possible. And today he would have his chance.

Tiberius Stone just shook Tony's hand and talked to him quietly. He knew that the two young men disliked each other but Tony could preserve the appearance in public. Stark Industries and Viastone worked together for a long time. Tiberius was a scientist and he was brilliant but he was no Howard or no Tony Stark. And Tony on the other hand knew, that they needed Viastone, too. 

Obie waited till Tiberius sat down in the back row of the chapel before he went over to him. He sat down beside him but he still kept an eye on Tony. 

“Mr. Stone,” he said and the man beside him turned to look at him.

“Mr. Stane.” He could hear the smile in his voice. 

“I'm glad you could make it,” Obie said and finally turned his head to look at the young man for a second. 

“It's the least I could to for Tony,” Tiberius said and Obie heard the sarcasm in his voice. 

“Okay, you said you wanted to talk to me. What do you want?” The younger man finally asked after a very long moment of quietness between the two of them. And inwardly Obie grinned now. 

“There's something we need to discuss, Mr. Stone,” he said. 

“You and me? I don't know what we need to talk about,” Tiberius hissed and wanted to rise but Obie grabbed his arm and the younger man sat down again. 

“I know that there's something you want. You've talked to Howard about it.” Obie turned to look at him and Stane pressed his lips together before he glared back.

“Howard told me that it's Tony's decision and Tony would never give it up.” 

“And that's why I want to get rid of it as soon as possible. He's way too attached to it. I need him focused.” Obie shrugged and Tiberius cocked his head questioningly. 

“So?” He asked. Obie started to grin. 

“If you still want it, you can have it,” he said and Stone's brows hit his hairline.

“You want to sell Tony's slave?” He asked and turned to look at Tony now. The younger man sat still in the front row and he just talked to Justin Hammer. 

“Yes,” Obie confirmed and nodded again. 

“Without Tony's knowledge?” Tiberius added.

“Of course without his knowledge. He would never give that little shit up,” he spat and Tiberius started to smirk evilly. 

“What about his papers?” He asked then. Obie reached into the pocket inside of his suit jacket, put out a few papers and handed them to Stone. The younger man unfolded them, read them and his head snapped up to look at him. 

“Forged?” 

“Yes. And no,” Obie said and nodded slowly. “The papers are real, just the chip in his pet's shoulder isn't. I will get it a new chip if you accept.” 

“What will you tell Tony?” Stone asked and Obie chuckled slightly.

“His pet... it was upset after its registration. And now he left it alone in Malibu. I'll cut the chip out, leave it in a puddle of blood in Tony's house and make it look as if it ran away.” Obie took the papers out of Tiberus' hands, folded them and put them back into the pocket of his suit jacket. 

“What do you want?” He asked then and Obie stiffled the grin that tried to appear on his face. 

“With its training and its abilities it's worth 125 thousand dollars. If you don't trust me, you can ask Mr. Henderson from the SSPC. I can give you his number.” 

“But? I can clearly hear a but,” Tiberius cocked his head again. 

“I've heard you're working on a sonic device to... to _stun_ people.” He turned to look at him. “I want one,” he said. 

Tiberius scrutinized him for a long moment. And then he shrugged and nodded. “We're currently in the final testing phase. You can get one of them as soon as the tests are finished and successful, Mr. Stane,” he said and now Obie allowed himself to smile.

“Then we have a deal,” he said. 

“When can I get it?” Stone asked and looked back at Tony. 

“I'll fly to Malibu tomorrow. I'll call you as soon as I have it.” 

Tiberius nodded, reached into his pocket, took one of his business cards out of it together with a pen, scribbled a phone number onto the backside and gave it to Obie. “My private number,” he said. “Call me.”

***

Clint was thankful that he could stay in Malibu. He hated New York and what happened there. He understood now that Tony only had tried to protect him but that didn't mean he _wanted_ to go back there anytime soon. Of course it actually didn't matter what he wanted. If Tony would've ordered him, he'd gone with him.

On the other hand, he also felt bad for leaving him alone, now that he needed someone – him? – at his side. But order was order, right? And technically Tony _had_ ordered him to stay here. He sighed and sat up on his knees and looked around the laundry room. He had polished the floor here for the last hour to have something to do since Tony's bots did all the cleaning upstairs. 

And then the light went out. 

“J-JARVIS?” Clint asked, unsure what just had happened. He looked at the ceiling, even if Tony had told him the AI wasn't in there but he didn't get a response. “JARVIS?” He asked again. Maybe it hadn't heard him. But again, no answer. 

He rose from the floor and groped his way to the corridor in the darkness of the basement. The corridor was dark as well and Clint walked along the wall to the stairs. When he opened the door to the living area upstairs he finally could see again but apparently it was a complete blackout, all over the house. He had no idea what to do. When there was no energy, he couldn't call Tony. Or at least an electrician. But then he remembered the cell phone Tony left in his bedroom drawer, just in case of an emergency and this was an emergency, right? 

Clint wanted to go to the stairs to Tony's bedroom when he suddenly flinched violently. Someone was in the house and stepped out of the living room into his view. But when he recognized the man he let out the breath he just held in his lungs. It was Obadiah Stane, Tony's mentor and CEO of Stark Industries. 

Stane looked at him, cocked his head and only when he snapped his fingers and pointed at the ground Clint realized, that he still stood there and stared at the man. He dropped to his knees, sat back on his heels and put his hands behind his back. And then he looked down at the ground as it was expected of him. 

“Good morning, sir,” he greeted him but Stane didn't answer. Of course he didn't, he never talked to Clint if it wasn't absolutely necessary. But what did he want here? Tony was still in New York and Stane should be there, too.

“Get up,” Stane snarled and Clint obeyed immediately. He knew that this man could get angry really fast. One day, while Clint waited in Tony's office, Stane came in and wanted some files. Clint didn't get them fast enough and Stane backhanded him so hard that he lost a tooth. Tony was furious and yelled at Stane but that didn't stop him the next time to beat Clint again. 

As soon as he stood Stane gestured with his finger that he should turn around. Clint swallowed hard, he had no idea what he wanted from him, but he turned nevertheless. Stane grabbed Clint's left arm and fastened a leather cuff around his wrist. When it was locked he did the same with his right wrist and then he locked both his hands behind his back. 

“Turn around,” Stane snapped and Clint saw a leash in his hand. He looked disbelievingly at it. Stane attached the hook to his collar, turned and walked to the door and when Clint didn't follow immediately he pulled hard.

“Sir?” Clint finally asked. Tony had told him to stay. Why did this man want to take him away?

“Shut your mouth, boy,” Stane growled but this time Clint resisted. Tony had told him to stay and he would obey _his_ master's orders. 

“Sir, I'm supposed to stay here,” he said. Stane turned around, glared at him, grabbed his chin forcefully with one hand and leaned close to Clint's face. 

“No, you're not.” Stane grinned evilly. “Tony's going to sell you and I'll bring you to your new master.” 

“Wh-what?” Clint's mouth was dry in an instant. He must've heard wrongly. Tony had told him he would never sell him. “No,” he blurted and shook his head. “No, this...” 

Stane wordlessly reached into his pockets and showed Clint a bunch of papers. “What do you think why he gave me your paperwork?” He asked and then, with a really evil grin on his face, he added, “He finally got tired of you.” 

“No, he... he said he... he would never...” Clint stammered and shook his head. 

“What do you think why he didn't take you with him? He's buying a new slave, a younger, prettier one,” Stane said and chuckled when Clint still shook his head. 

But then the older man pulled at his leash and dragged him to the door. Clint was so stunned, he just followed him. He couldn't believe what he just heard. Tony had promised him to never sell him. Tony had promised him. He said he would never sell him, he would always keep him and now? Now he... 

“Oh, wait,” Stane suddenly said and stopped. “There's something we need to do first.” He grabbed Clint and turned him around and suddenly something sharp entered his back between his shoulderblades, cut him open and he felt blood run over his back. 

“Ouch!” He yelped. 

“Shut up,” Stane growled again and squeezed around in the cut. It hurt like hell but Clint pressed his teeth together. He wouldn't scream out again. And then he realized what he just did, he removed the chip.

“No!” Clint yelled and tried to struggle but a kick in the back of his knees let him fall down and he landed on the floor, face first. Stane sat on his back, picked out the chip and let it fall down beside him. And then he put a band-aid on the cut. Stane rose and kicked Clint's hip.

“Get up,” he snapped and pulled at the leash. It was difficult with his hands tied behind his back but when Stane pulled again, he managed it. His neck hurt like hell, just as bad as his back. He had tears in his eyes when Stane led him out of the house to a waiting car and told him to take the seat in the back beside him.

The driver brought them to the airport. They could enter through a side entrance to the private planes and the car stopped in front of a huge jet. Clint saw a logo on it: Viastone. He knew the name, Tony had mentioned it more than once and he also knew the name of its owner. Tiberius Stone. Clint knew him, he'd met him a few times at Tony's college and in Tony's office. He also knew that Tony didn't like him. 

Stane left the car and Clint followed him, he had no other chance since the older man still tugged at his leash. The plane's door was open and stairs led to it and a man came out and looked down at them. It was Tiberius Stone and the expression on his face let his stomach churn. 

“Come on, hurry up,” Stane snarled and pulled again at the leash and only Clint's quick reflexes prevented him to fall on his face. He made a few hasty steps to regain his balance and then they were already in front of the stairs.

“Mr. Stane,” the man greeted them and stepped aside to let them in. Stane dragged him into the plane behind himself. The plane was almost as luxurious as Tony's and a female slave offered Stane a drink as soon as he sat in one of the seats. She was completely naked save for a thick leather collar and heavy nipple rings. 

“So, Tony finally decided to get rid of his pet,” Stone said and came over to Clint and Stane gave him the handle. Stone nodded and shoved a small, dark box in Stane's direction. The man nodded, too, and took it.

“He wants something younger,” the older man said and Stone chuckled. He stood in front of Clint and scrutinized him very closely. And then he ripped the thin tunic and the slave shorts away. 

“Well, that's too bad. For Tony,” he said and started to touch Clint's naked chest. Clint closed his eyes and swallowed hard. But a slap in the face let him open them again. “Don't you dare do that again,” Stone growled. 

“Yes, sir,” Clint whispered and that earned him another slap. 

“That's master to you now, boy,” he snapped. “And I expect you to answer properly and don't mumble the words into your non-existing beard. You got me?” 

“Yes, Ma-master,” Clint said. Stone nodded with a grin on his face and continued to grope Clint's body, felt every inch of it, squeezed the muscles, weighed his testicles and his cock. 

“I see Tony let you keep it,” Stone said and looked at Clint's genitals. 

“Maybe you want to keep it, too,” Stane threw in. “The bastard has perfect eyes and aim and you could breed that into your flock.” Stone turned his head and looked at Stane, deliberated for a few seconds and then he shrugged.

“We'll see.” He turned Clint around and a few seconds later something painful pierced the skin between his sholder blades, only a few millimeters below the cut where Stane had removed Clint's chip. He knew that pain, it was his new chip. Clint couldn't hold back a groan. 

“Well, that's my cue,” Stane said, took his box and rose. “Have fun with it.” 

“Oh, I definitely will.” Stone didn't wait till Stane had left the plane, he grabbed Clint's neck and bent him over one of the tables. “Tell the pilot to start,” Stone, no master now, snapped.

“Yes, master,” the female slave said and Clint heard the rustling of clothes and then, without any preparations, Stone lined his cock up at Clint's entrance and shoved in. It hurt like hell and when tears ran over his face he thought of Tony's promise. _Why, Tony? You've promised to never sell me. Why did you do that to me now?_

***

Tony ran into his house in Malibu as soon as the taxi stopped. He threw a hundred dollar bill at the driver and left the car. He knew it was too much but he couldn't care less right now. The moment Obie had called and told him that Clint was gone he had taken his plane to fly to California.

Obie waited for him in the living room.

“Where's Clint!” Tony blurted and looked around frantically. “Obie, where is he?” 

“Tony, please, calm down,” the older man said and grabbed his shoulders. 

“Where's Clint!” Tony yelled and broke away. He ran into the living room and there he saw... blood on the floor. His mouth went dry. “Oh god!” 

“Tony, calm down. It's... he's not dead, it's...” Obie grabbed his shoulder again. “Look,” he pointed at something at the table. “I found this in the blood,” he said. Tony looked at it. It was a small, longish thingy with blood on it. 

“What's that, Obie?” Tony asked and looked up at the older man. “What is that?” 

“That's the tracker chip it had had in its back.” Tony, who had stared at the thing again, turned around violently. 

“What?” 

“It's its chip. It...” Obie started but Tony interrupted him.

“Stop calling Clint _it_!” He snarled. 

“Okay, Tony. Whatever you want. It seems as if he cut out the chip and ran away,” Obie said. 

“What? No! No, he... he would never run away, he...” 

“Tony, he's a slave. You left him here unguarded. It was the perfect chance. When I came into the house the current supply was short circuited, your AI doesn't know what happened and your slave is gone. What do you think happened?” 

“No, I _know_ Clint. He would never run away. Someone... someone had kidnapped him,” Tony said. “Did you call the police? Someone kidnapped Clint.” 

“No, I didn't call the cops. If I had they would search for him as runaway slave and you know what happens to runaways,” Obie said and Tony paled. Yes, he knew. He had finally read the 'SSPC-Handbook.' The sentence was to cut off half of their right foot, so they would never be able to run. 

“But... but he would never run away, Obie. Someone had taken him,” Tony whispered. 

“He's a slave, Tony. He's not your friend and not your lover, he's your property and you didn't look after it and so it ran away.” 

“You need to find him, Obie. Please, engage someone to find him and to bring him back home. Please,” Tony said and he knew that he sounded broken. 

“Don't worry, Tony. I'll help you. I'll always help you,” Obie put his arms around Tony's shoulders and pulled him close to his chest. “I've promised your dad to be here for you and I'll help you. We'll find him.” 

“Thank you, Obie.”


	6. Chapter 6

Tony looked up when he heard a knock at the door to his lab. He saw Obie outside and sighed. Really, this man was the last one he wanted to talk to right now. He wanted to work on this new robot and not think about Stark Industries. But when Obie knocked again he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“JARVIS,” Tony said and the AI understood. The door went open and the older man stormed in. 

“Where have you been, Tony?” He snapped but Tony didn't bother to turn around. He rummaged through the pile of tools on the table beside him to find the screwdriver with the small tip. “Tony!” Obie grabbed the chair he sat on and turned it around. Some of his tools fell onto the floor and he saw the screwdriver he had searched. 

“I was here,” Tony mumbled, rose, went to the screwdriver, picked it up and sat down again. 

“But you were supposed to partake on this meeting this afternoon. The board members were angry.”

“I don't care,” he muttered into his scruffy beard and glared over his safety glasses for a second. But then he looked at the wiring again and leaned down to take a closer look. 

“Tony, for crying out loud! How long are you in here?” Obie asked when he scrutinized him. Tony only shrugged. 

“JARVIS?” Obie looked at the ceiling like most of the people did when they talked to the AI. He had told everyone that JARVIS wasn't in the ceiling but apparently it was easier for them to have something to look at. Tony didn't bother to tell him for the umpteenth time that this was ridiculous. No one listened to him in that matter. So, why bother at all? “JARVIS?” Obie repeated and Tony looked up at the older man. And then it hit him that he had ordered him to keep silent. 

“JARVIS, you can answer,” Tony said and turned back to his work. He listened with one ear Obie asking the AI about him, Tony, and how long he really was here and the AI told him. But once again, Tony couldn't care less. But then Obie grabbed his shoulder and spun him around so he had to face him.

“You're in here for four days?” He squinted his eyes and tapped his finger against his arm angrily. 

“I don't know. And I don't care.” Tony sighed and wanted to turn back to his work. Not that long ago Clint had made sure that he didn't overdo things, that he slept and ate and drank something else than coffee but now... He pinched the bridge of his nose and looked up at Obie. 

“You need to sleep and you need to eat, Tony,” Obie said and Tony couldn't hold back a bitter snort. He rose and went over to the counter where he had his fully automated coffee maker, put his mug in and pressed a few buttons. He stared into the cup and watched the black liquid drop into it. When it was filled Tony reached for the bottle he had beside the coffee maker, opened it and poured some of it into his mug. When he turned around he saw Obie leaning over his new robot and trying to find out what he had built there. He also was sure that he couldn't understand it. It was too complicated for most of the people. Clint on the other hand... he had understood it. 

He took a long sip and walked back to his worktable to sit down and continue his work when Obie started to sniff before he looked at Tony's mug. When Tony wanted to take another sip Obie took it out of his hand and sniffed at it closer now. 

“Is that alcohol?” 

Tony didn't bother to answer. It was just a rhetorical question. 

“Tony, did you pour alcohol into your coffee?” Obie asked again but this time more forcefully. 

“That's got shit all to do with you!” Tony turned around violently and yelled at the older man. “I do what I fucking want!” 

“I've promised to your father that I would take care of you. I can't let you drink some booze at ten am, for Chrissake!” 

“I don't know if I would call it booze. After all, it's a bottle you gave my dad.” Tony shrugged and reached around Obie, took the mug and emptied it in one go. Obie's head snapped around and he stared at the bottle beside the coffee maker. 

“What the... are you crazy? You can't mix a 62 years old Dalmore with your coffee!” He almost yelled. Tony looked at his mug, at Obie, at the bottle and then back at Obie.

“Why not?” 

“Because... That's a 200,000 dollar bottle, you heathen!” 

Tony took a deep breath, glared and then slammed the mug down on his workbench. He went to the counter, grabbed the bottle and pressed it violently against Obie's chest.

“Take your goddamn _booze_ and leave me the fuck alone! I have work to do!” He yelled. 

“You play around with your fucking robots all the time. But Stark Industries sells weapons so if you have work to do, then do something for your company before it's ruined.” 

“What do I care,” Tony suddenly muttered and sat down, took his screwdriver and went back to the wiring of his bot. 

“Tony, you need to take care of you. You need someone to look after you,” Obie said and Tony slammed his screwdriver down, turned around and once more glared at him. 

“I _had_ someone who...” He stopped and pressed his lips together. “But he ran away.” He finished his sentence after a few long moments. 

“Okay,” Obie nodded. He seemed frustrated but he took the bottle of whiskey and left the workshop. Tony didn't turn around but when he heard the door close behind Obie he wiped away the tear that ran along his cheek.

***

Tony lay on the cot in his workshop when Obie entered together with Pepper and Hayley, his newest toy. It was two weeks since he found him drinking coffee with whiskey and it gotten worse since then. The boy didn't leave his workshop anymore. Obie had used his own code and didn't even bother to knock anymore. Tony snored, clutched a cushion close to his chest and whimpered quietly but Obie could smell the alcohol. He gestured at the two slaves that they should kneel down beside the door and they obeyed without complaining. 

“Tony!” Obie kicked the cot and the young man groaned and mumbled something unintelligible into his fuzzy beard. “Get up!” He snarled and Tony mumbled again. He still couldn't understand him. Obie sighed, leaned down, grabbed the rim of the cot and turned it over. 

The genius landed an the ground and yelped indignantly, looking around and searching for the threat till he spotted him. 

“Wha'd'ya'wan?” He slurred and wiped his face with one hand before he yawned and sat up slowly. 

“You're drunk, Tony,” he stated.

Tony only glared at him but didn't bother to talk to him. He just went to this coffee maker and prepared himself a cup of coffee. Obie saw him add some alcohol again. He also didn't bother to ask anymore if he, Obie, wanted some coffee, too. He drank the boiling hot liquid in two big swallows and prepared another cup.

“You're destroying yourself, Tony,” Obie said and folded his arms in front of his chest. 

“And?” Tony turned to him, leaned against the counter and cocked his head questioningly and toyed around with the mug in his hand.

“You're the owner of a multinational company and you spend all your time here in your workshop, build useless stuff and drink yourself into a stupor. You have to get your shit together, for fuck's sake! You're not a child anymore!” 

“Fuck off!” Tony wanted to turn and walk away but Obie held him. 

“No! You're going to listen to me right now! You're not a child anymore, so stop acting like a child. Boo hoo hoo, your toy ran away! So what? Get over it, get a new toy and try to be a productive member of the society!” Obie spat. He saw the younger man flinch when he mentioned his slave. 

“You have no...” Tony started but with a harsh gesture with his hand Obie cut him short. 

“No idea what you're going through?” He asked and then he laughed. “I've been married three times and all of them ran away with their lovers or god knows whomever. But I worked my ass off, your father and your grandfather worked their asses off for this company and you brat won't destroy it because your fuck toy ran away!”

“Clint was not my fuck toy, he was...” 

“What? Your friend? Your lover? Your soulmate? For the record, it ran away! It didn't care about you!” 

“Stop calling him it!” 

“Tony,” Obie lowered his voice. “ _He_ 's not worth your time anymore. Get over it.” 

“I can't...” Obie saw the tears in Tony's eyes. “I... I miss him so much.” He admitted and sat down on one of the rolling chairs. 

“I know, Tony. He didn't care about you. But I do. You're almost like a son to me and to see you like this,” he said and shook his head. And when a tear finally left one of Tony's eyes he went over to him and put an arm around him. “It breaks me, Tony. I love you like I love my son and I can't stand to see you like this any longer.” He held the younger man in his arm and let him cry, patted his back every now and then and quietly comforted him. 

“I have a present for you,” he said when Tony had calmed down. Obie looked over his shoulder at Pepper, waved her over to them with his hand and the young woman obeyed immediately. She knelt down beside his leg and waited for new orders. 

“I...” Tony started but Obie shook his head and interrupted him again. 

“No, Tony. I know that you need someone to take care of your needs and there's no one I would trust with that job more than Pepper. It's perfectly trained and it will do whatever you want, Tony.” 

“I don't want a slave anymore,” Tony mumbled. 

“It's yours,” Obie said, reached behind himself for the leash he had attached to Pepper's collar and put the handle in Tony's hand. “I insist. You need someone to take care of you.” 

“But... what about you?” 

“Don't worry about me, Tony. I get by.” He smiled when Tony looked up, concerned, and finally nodded.

“Thanks, Obie,” he whispered. Obie's smile broadened. 

“You don't need to thank me, Tony.” Everything went according to plan. Pepper would report to him about everything Tony did and planned, it would take care that he was functioning enough to pretend to lead the company but not enough to interfere with his actual plans. No, everything was fine now. When he left the workshop with Hayley in tow he couldn't hold back the triumphant grin.

***

When he saw stars at the edge of his vision and started to blackout he finally panicked. He tried to move his head back but Master held him relentless but he didn't dare to use his hands against him. Not even when he tried to suffocate him with his cock. Not after the beating of his life he had gotten the last time. But Clint couldn't hold back the 'almost scream', muffled by the thick dick in his mouth. And then he felt Master orgasm. Finally. The thick, salty fluid hit the back of his throat and he swallowed – or at least tried to – every single drop. 

“That's it, bitch,” Master chuckled and let go of his head, shoved him back onto the ground with his foot and Clint lay there, panting heavily and feeling the tears on his face. He didn't cry, he'd stopped that some time ago but when one gets suffocated they can't hold back the tears. And Master enjoyed to see the tears and so Clint didn't try to stop them. Instead he sucked in the air greedily. 

Master kicked his side and Clint slowly tried to get up onto his knees. He needed a few tries, everything still hurt. Master had fucked him so hard before he slipped out of him and forced him to suck him off. His whole backside was sore but he managed to get onto his knees. 

He folded his hands behind his back and swallowed. “Thank you, Master,” he murmured and waited for Stone – Master – to give him new orders. 

“You're going to pack my bags, bitch. I want to fly to Vegas tomorrow.”

“Yes, Master,” Clint said and waited if Master gave him more instructions. 

“Don't forget my new gray suit,” he said and Clint nodded.

“Yes, Master.” Clint wanted to rise but Master shoved him back to the ground with his feet. 

“Not right now, bitch. It's almost midnight, I want to sleep.” Master lay back and Clint nodded again. 

“I'm sorry. Good night, Master,” he whispered and reached under the bed for the cushion and the thin blanket he had there and placed it on the carpet beside Master's bed. When Master shut off the light he lay down, too, curled up on the carpet beside Master's bed and shut his eyes.

Sometimes Master let him sleep in the bed together with him but only when he wanted to fuck him in the middle of the night and he preferred to sleep beside the bed if he was honest.

It was one of those nights and as soon as he closed his eyes he thought of Tony, of what he had with him. He loved him, he really did and he had hoped that Tony would free him one day so they could be together as equals. He had promised it to him but then he sold him to a man he always said he disliked. He felt a tear run along his cheek and he was angry at himself now because he allowed it, because he still, after six months with his new owner, he missed the man that betrayed him.

***

Clint carried Master's luggage from the car to the entrance when a young man with the casino's slave uniform stopped him. “You can't use the main entrance. There's the slave entrance at the side of the building,” he whispered. When another free man passed him, the casino slave bowed down and offered his service but the man had his own slaves, too. 

Clint nodded thankfully at the casino slave, grabbed the suitcases and wanted to walk to the slave entrance when Master stopped him with a bellowed command. 

“Where do you think you're going?” he spat and Clint fell onto his knees, his head bowed. 

“I'm sorry, Master. But they told me I'm not allowed to use the main entrance. There's a slave entrance at the side of the building,” he said and Master scrutinized him for a long moment. But then he nodded, turned and entered the building. Clint looked at the casino's slave. 

“How do I know the number of his room?” He asked and the slave smiled. 

“Don't worry, one of us will tell you,” he said and smiled, too. Clint grabbed the suitcases and walked around the building till he saw a door with two big, burly men in front of it. They saw him, scrutinized him, checked the tag on his collar with a scanner and then they let him in. There were other slaves with suitcases, too, and waited to be told where to go. He put the luggage down and waited for someone to come to him, to tell him where he had to go and after a few more minutes an older slave woman, also dressed in the casino's slave uniform, came to them and – after checking the tag on his collar – told them the room number. Clint nodded thankfully but slaves were also not allowed to use the elevators and so he had to carry two heavy suitcases up the stairs seventeen floors. 

The suite Master had rented was beautiful and once again Tony popped up in his mind. He knew that he would've booked something similar. But then he gritted his teeth and shoved the memory of his former owner away and carried the suitcases in Master's bedroom. He saw a small cot in the walk-in closet and he knew that it was intended for slaves to sleep on. But he also knew that Master wouldn't allow that, he wanted Clint to sleep beside his bed. Luckily they had carpets here, too. He'd been in a hotel with Master once where he had to sleep on cold tiles. Master didn't care about Clint being comfortable, he just wanted him close by in case he wanted to use him. And he wanted to use him often. 

Clint unpacked Master's stuff and made sure that the gray suit was ready to wear. This suit was ugly as fuck but Master loved it. It was... well... too much, too forced stylish. Master had no sense for fashion, he always overdid it. But no one dared to tell him and Clint was a slave, he was supposed to have no opinion. 

Master didn't show up immediately, he probably was in the casino on the roulette tables. He loved roulette, even if he lost most of the time. But so Clint had enough time to prepare the suite for him. Slaves weren't allowed to enter the casinos. At least not private owned slaves. Only the slaves owned by the casino itself were allowed to serve drinks and food and provide other services. And so Clint lay down on the cot in the closet and slept since he wasn't allowed to watch TV or listen to the radio. He had no idea how long he slept but eventually the front door went open and Master strolled in. Clint, who was a light sleeper, heard him and he left his cot, went to Master and knelt down, his hands folded behind his back. 

“My gray suit, bitch,” he snarled and Clint hurried back to the closet and brought it to him. When he was close Master only opened his arms and Clint knew that he should undress him. He swallowed and put the gray suit down on the couch, went behind Master and helped him out of the jacket before he went around again and unbuttoned his shirt. Master didn't look away, he watched him closely and waited till Clint had opened his pants when he finally moved. He put a hand on Clint's shoulder and pushed him down onto his knees and the smirk on his face spoke louder than words. He closed his eyes for a second but then he reached into Master's boxers and got his cock out. He kissed the tip as it was expected and then he wrapped his lips around it. “That's my little bitch,” Master groaned when Clint touched the sensitive spot under his glans. And when he felt Master's cock twitch he started to suck in earnest. He didn't take much time, he knew what Master loved and how he could bring him to orgasm as fast as possible but nowadays he always held Clint's head when he did and he forced him to deep throat his dick till he almost passed out every time. 

When he felt the salty fluid running down his throat and Master shoved him away he lay there and sucked in the air greedily for a few seconds. Master only tucked his dick away into his boxers. He shoved Clint and when he looked up, Master grinned evilly.

“I'm still undressed, bitch,” he said. 

“I'm sorry, Master,” Clint murmured and tried to rise. He didn't manage it on the first try. Sometimes he had the impression that it was getting worse every time he did it to him. Clint moved onto hands and knees and that way he finally could rise, even if he was still a little woozy. But he managed to dress Master and when he tied the tie he thought about strangling him with it for a few seconds. In the end he just tied it and smoothed it down before he closed his jacket. 

“Put on your tunic, bitch. You're coming with me,” Master said with a grin on his face. Clint frowned for a second.

“I thought I'm not allowed to enter the casino, Master?” Clint asked and Master backhanded him. 

“That's why you're not supposed to think. And now get dressed and meet me in my car in twenty minutes.” He should've known better than to back talk. 

“Yes, Master,” Clint said and nodded. Master turned and left the suite already and Clint went to the closet again to get his tunic. He didn't wear it often, Master preferred to see his naked skin when they were _home_. So he was nervous when he had to wear it. The last time Master had taken Clint to one of the farms where he had left him for a whole weekend and Clint had to breed the female slaves. He hated every second of it because he saw the fear and the distress the poor girls were in when they got strapped to a breeding horse and he had to fuck them. And he was sore and woozy from all the pills he had to take to be able to fuck as many of them as possible. He really hoped it wasn't something like that again. 

But when he finally got out of the car he saw a building that looked like a restaurant or a club of sorts. And it wasn't a cheap one as it seemed. Master snapped his fingers when he caught Clint staring at the building. 

“Follow me,” Master said and walked to the door. Clint walked behind him. He had no idea why he should accompany him but who was he to ask? He could still feel the pain from the blow to his cheek from earlier. 

A man – a free man – awaited them at the door and Clint followed Master and the man into dim lit room behind the restaurant. They even had to cross through the kitchen. The room wasn't too big and in the middle stood a round and with green felt covered table with glasses, cards and chips on it. Eight chairs stood around it and four of them were taken. Clint saw three men in expensive suits and an Asian woman in a white, beautiful dress sitting there, talking quietly and drinking champagne. But as soon as he and Master entered the room the people looked at him, Clint. His stomach started to cramp a little when all these people stared at him as if he was the dessert. _Please, god, don't let him do this_ , Clint prayed silently. 

“Is that your pet?” Clint almost jumped out of his skin when a cold hand touched his back under the tunic. It wasn't Master. Master stood beside him but he looked over Clint's shoulder at whomever was behind him. And he didn't stop the man from touching him. So Clint swallowed but stayed still until Master told him what he wanted him to do. 

“Yes, that's it.” Master grabbed his arm and turned him around so he could face the man in front of him. He was taller by a head but Clint had always been short for his age. The man was strongly-built and had long, grayish hair in a ponytail and a neatly trimmed, mostly black haired beard. He wore a black suit with black shirt and a black tie and the scar over his left eye let him appear dangerous. Clint wanted to shrink away. But the man grabbed his arm and pulled him close, let his hand wander under his tunic again and he squeezed his nipples. He groaned because it was really painful. But when he let his hand wander down Clint's body Master stopped the man. 

“It's still my pet,” he said sharply and glared at the man. 

“You want to use it as wager. So, why should I accept it if you don't let me check it?” The man turned his eyes away from Clint and looked at Master. But Clint's mouth went dry. Master used him as wager? 

“It's been Tony Stark's pet. It's been pampered, spoiled rotten. But with a little training and a firm hand – probably a good whipping, too – you can shape it into a perfectly trained weapon. It's the best shot you've ever seen, believe me. I'd say it's even better than you. And, goddammit, it's flexible. You can enjoy it in the sack, too. But,” Master said and stepped closer to the man, “Only if you win the next hand.” 

“The best shot, huh?” The man scrutinized Clint, his eyes squinted and his head cocked. “Proof it.” He turned to look at Master. 

“What? Here?” Master asked and the man just shrugged.

“You want me to accept your wager. You can still give me the ten percent of your shares you owe me and everything will be fine, Mr. Stone,” he said and grinned smugly. 

“No. When I give you the ten percent I lose my majority and you know that,” Master pressed through his teeth. 

“I know.” The man's grin broadened. “It's either the shares or the slave. Your choice. But if you want me to accept the slave, you need to proof that it's worth it.” 

“Can we use the roof?” Master asked the man who had led them inside and he nodded after a few seconds. 

“Give me a few minutes to take the necessary steps.” He left the room and Master grabbed his arm and shoved him away.

“I know that Tony told us you shoot with a bow. Did you ever use a gun?” 

“No, Master,” Clint whispered quietly. “My... my former owner wanted to send me to one of the bodyguard academies. Later, when... they said they only take trainees who are twenty-one.” He wasn't allowed to say Tony's name.

“But you know how to use a gun, right?” Master stepped very close to him, pressed him into the wall behind him. 

“Only in theory, Master,” Clint admitted and he ducked his head when Master threatened to slap him. But the man he'd talked to earlier cleared his throat behind them. 

“Everything okay?” He wanted to know and Master turned to him. 

“Yes, everything is fine.” He spat but before he followed the man he glared angrily at Clint again. “Don't you dare to miss!” 

“Yes, Master.” Clint swallowed. 

Together they all went onto the flat roof and a slave in a tunic – in red and blue instead of the standard beige but no logo from the restaurant on it – brought a target and set it up. The man who had arranged the demonstration reached into his pocket and drew his weapon. Clint swallowed again and the man apparently saw it. Master saw it, too, and he was really angry. 

“You've never used a gun, right?” The man said and smirked. Clint looked at Master but the man moved and placed himself between the two of them. “Answer me, boy,” he said then.

“No, sir.” Clint admitted. 

“What kind of weapon did you learn to shoot with?” He asked then and Clint blushed. 

“The bow, sir.” The man raised one brow and Clint added, “I've been trained in the circus, sir.” 

“The circus?” He folded both his arms in front of his chest and cocked his head. He seemed really curious now. “Do you by chance know Buck Chisholm?” 

“Yes, sir. He was the one who taught me,” Clint said. 

The man started to grin. “Huh.” And then he turned around to Master. 

“Okay, let's get this started.” The man from the restaurant came over to them and rubbed his hands. Master nodded and the other man nodded, too. Clint went in position and the man handed Clint his weapon. When he saw him look at the gun he took it again, released the safety catch, cocked it and gave it back to Clint. He even showed him how to stand correctly and nodded at him. 

Clint licked his lips, aimed and shot. He hit dead center. 

“This was the first time you used a gun, right?” The man asked again and Clint nodded.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Repeat it,” he ordered.

Clint aimed again and shot and hit only a millimeter beside the first bullet. 

“Again.” Clint did it. “Again.” Clint shot once more. 

And then the man turned to Master. 

“Let's play, Ty,” he said and nodded at Clint. Master gritted his teeth and Clint saw a muscle twitch at his chin. He was angry and Clint had no idea why. But he knew that he would punish him for whatever he'd done wrong as soon as they were back in the hotel. 

But he never had to return to the hotel with Master. Half an hour later he had a new owner and Master left angrily. 

“So, boy,” New Master asked. “What's your name?” 

“Whatever you want it to be, Master,” Clint said automatically. 

“No, I want the name your mom gave you.” 

“Clint, Master. Clint Barton,” he said and New Master shook his head.

“Nope. I'm not Master. I'm not a traditionalist like Stone. My name is Albert Deeds but you will call me sir.” 

“Yes, sir.” Clint nodded and Sir went to him and removed Master's collar and attached a new one.

“So, good ol' Buck taught you to shoot with the bow. I'm so glad I have found you,” he grinned and steered Clint to his car, an old, red 1970 Plymouth Hemi'Cuda. He recognized it immediately, Tony had had one of them but in black. “I've high hopes for you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Margie was in Sir’s ownership for more than fifteen years now and she knew what he did for a living. People might say he was a bad man but he was a good owner and usually he was kind to his slaves. She was sold to him as soon as she turned sixteen, right after her registration. Her former owner, the owner of the farm she was bred on, was a harsh man and he had trained them rigorously. Sir was strict, too, but he wasn’t as mean as her former owner and two years ago Sir had made Margie his alpha-slave, responsible for all the other slaves and that the household was in good order. Adam, the former alpha, got hit by a car while fetching Sir’s favorite cigars in the city and he was so badly injured that Sir had to call the veterinarian to euthanize him.

Sir had six more slaves in his household and Margie was responsible that five of them did their chores. But she also was responsible for their wellbeing and she was allowed to go to Sir and talk to him whenever it was necessary. The slave’s wellbeing was a task she took seriously. They were sort of their surrogate family. Margie wasn’t destined for breeding, she was too small and not healthy enough to survive all the births, and that’s why she got sterilized when she turned sixteen. She would never have children and so the slaves were her ersatz. The only slave she wasn’t completely responsible for was Clint.

Two months ago Sir brought a young slave from his trip to Las Vegas, Clint, and he had said the boy was something special. He was no house slave and so his chores were not Margie’s responsibility. But he slept with them in the slave dorm in the basement, he ate with them, he showered with them, the only difference was, that he had to go to Sir or Sir’s brother every morning for his training instead of doing the chores the other slaves did. Before he brought Clint in, Sir had had Jane. She was Sir’s former _trainee_ but she was killed six months ago on a _mission_ with Sir. He was so angry and he had killed the man who had done it with his own hands.

Clint was a nice young boy, always polite and obliging even if she was sure that his former owner has treated him badly. He never talked about himself or what happened to him but he often spoke in his sleep, talked about someone called Tony or begged his _Master_ to stop and Margie felt sorry for him. She also saw all the scars on him, scars different from the _usual_ punishment marks. He had the same marks Laura had had and Laura had told her what her former owner had done to her. Margie was glad that Sir was a kind owner and didn’t use his slaves in _that_ way and forbade it for his team, too.

This afternoon Sir expected guests and it was her job to make sure everything was prepared for them. That meant, she had to go down to the basement herself to fetch the wine from the wine cellar. As far as she knew she was the only slave in the household who knew the basics of reading - Adam had taught her - so she couldn’t send someone else. Sir had an exquisite taste and he had told her which wine he wanted. 

Margie didn’t like this part of the basement. Aside from the wine cellar there were the training rooms for Sir’s team and his special slaves. Jane was trained here each day and now it was Clint. She had to pass the gym to go to the wine cellar and the door wasn’t closed. But today she heard strange noises from the inside, almost as if someone whimpered and the slapping of flesh on flesh. 

She stopped for a moment beside the open door because she wasn’t sure if she should just pass and pretend she hadn’t heard anything or if she should take a look. After all, the slave’s wellbeing was her responsibility and maybe Clint was injured. Margie bit her lip and toyed with the hem over her tunic for a moment but then she took a deep breath and made a step forward. 

Margie paled when she saw what happened inside of the gym. Clint, who was supposed to train there under Sir’s brother’s supervision, lay on one of the padded benches, his clothes carelessly discarded at the ground. His hands were tied to the steel bars above him and Matthias, one of Sir’s team members, stood over him and forced his cock in his mouth - Clint gagged and whimpered violently - and Sir’s brother stood between Clint’s legs, held them in his hands and pounded his dick in the boy’s ass. Margie made a step back, shocked to the core and she slapped a hand over her mouth to keep quiet and leaned against the wall. This wasn’t right. This… Sir said, the slaves in his household were not to be used sexually, all of them, and that included Clint, too. But… Sir’s brother was a mean man and he wouldn’t listen to her. She bit her lip and toyed around with the hem of her tunic. She needed to do something. She… she would talk to Sir. 

As quiet as possible Margie sneaked back to the stairs and left the basement. She knew that Sir was in his office. No one of Sir’s team was around and so she went upstairs and knocked at the door to the office. 

“Come in!” She heard Sir’s voice behind the door. Margie went in and went to the desk where he sat behind and worked on his computer. She knelt down beside it, folded her hands behind her back and waited till he looked at her. 

“What is it, Margie? Is there a problem?” He asked and Margie carefully nodded. 

“Yes, Sir,” she said and when he cocked his head she continued. “You said the slave’s wellbeing is my responsibility, sir,” she said. “And you said that… that you don’t want them to…” she stopped and swallowed.

“Margie, report!” Sir snapped when she hesitated. 

“Sir, it’s about Clint,” she said and took a deep breath. 

“He’s training with Clarke,” Sir said. Margie pressed her lips tight together for a moment. 

“Sir, your brother… he’s doing what you said is… is forbidden,” she said so quietly, she almost whispered. 

“What?” Sir spat and rose. “Where is he?” 

“He’s in the gym with Mr. Clarke and Mr. Matthias,” she told him. 

“With me!” Sir commanded and went to the door. Margie rose and followed him without hesitation. She could see in his stride that Sir was angry. 

He slammed open the door to the basement and stomped down with Margie in tow. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” He bellowed as soon as he was in the gym. Mr. Matthias scrambled away from the boy but Sir’s brother only turned his head, grinned and slowly rose from his position. 

“I’m using your bitch, brother,” he drawled and pulled up his pants, tucked away his still hard dick. Sir looked at Mr. Matthias, who covered his own cock with his hands. Sir slowly nodded, drew his gun and shot Mr. Matthias in the face. 

“I’ve told you my slaves are off limit, Clarke,” he said coolly and aimed at his brother now.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Mr. Clarke yelled and Margie saw him pale. 

“Untie the boy,” Sir said and looked over his shoulder at Margie. “Bring him to the dorm and tend to his injuries.” 

“Yes, sir,” Margie said. She deliberately didn’t look at Mr. Matthias who lay dead beside the bench and avoided to look at Mr. Clarke, too, because she knew that he was angry. 

“Okay, Clarke… tell me, which part of ‘Keep your hands off of my slaves’ was too complicated?” Sir snapped at his brother when Margie started to fumble with the knots. They were complicated and she needed a few minutes. She saw that tears run over Clint’s face but she didn’t know if it was from crying or from the fact that he got choked by Mr. Matthias’ cock. 

“It’s a registered pleasure slave. I’ve checked its registration.That’s what it’s trained for,” Mr. Clarke said and grinned smugly when Clint winced when Margie helped him up. 

“It’s _my_ slave and I give a flying fuck about its registration. _I_ decide what happens to it and if I say you keep your filthy fingers off of it then you keep your filthy fingers off of it! Do you understand me! It’s my new sniper and not your fucktoy! If you want to fuck a slave go to the next dealer and buy one for yourself!” Sir spat angrily and Mr. Clarke paled. Sir usually was a patient man and to go against his own brother and shoot one of his men only showed Margie that Sir cared for his slaves.

“Have you seen that tight ass? You should give it a try yourself, _brother_ ,” Mr. Clarke said now and went to Sir, stood very close to him. 

Margie grabbed Clint’s arm and dragged him out of the gym and to their dorm on the other end of the basement. She could hear the two men yell at each other for quite some time but she didn’t listen to it anymore. She had to take a look at Clint and what they had done to him. 

“Lie down,” she commanded when they were in the dorm. She had guided him to his cot and the boy obeyed. He shivered violently and more tears ran over his face. Margie put his blanket over him and went to the showers to get some water, a few clean towels and the med kit. 

Clint looked away, his lips pressed tight together when she cleaned the excoriations around his wrists. He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand but he still kept quiet. Margie worked fast and cleaned him, washed away the blood that had hit him when Sir had shot Mr. Matthias.

“Turn around,” she said when she had cleaned his front and once again, Clint obeyed without a sound. But he shivered when she wiped away his own blood from the tearing in his ass. 

“Didn’t they teach you how to avoid to get hurt?” She asked after a few minutes of awkward silence. 

“They?” Clint asked after a long moment and finally turned his head to look at her. 

“I’ve heard that pleasure slaves get a special training in those schools,” she said, threw away the dirty towel and coated her finger in ointment. 

“I don’t know,” Clint mumbled but then he bit his lip when she put it on his torn rectum. “I haven’t been in a school.” 

Margie sat back and stared at the boy. “What do you mean you haven’t been in a school? Where have you been trained then?” Clint looked at her for another long moment before he turned his head away and looked at the wall behind him. Margie scrutinized him but the boy didn’t say a word, he just stared at the wall. 

But before she could open her mouth the door went open and Sir came in. 

“Margie, report,” he commanded and Margie slid down to the floor onto her knees, folded her hands behind her back and looked at the ground. 

“He’s slightly torn, Sir, and his wrists are chafed but aside from that he’s okay,” she said. Clint slowly tried to rise but Sir stopped him. 

“Stay here for today, Clint. You have two days off from your training. Margie will give you some light chores in the kitchen tomorrow,” he said.

“Thank you, sir,” Clint said. Sir nodded and turned to leave but then he seemed to remember something and he turned back. 

“Did that happen before?” Sir asked and Clint cast his eyes down immediately but didn’t answer promptly. “Answer my question, boy!” Sir snapped after a few seconds. 

“Yes, sir,” Clint admitted. He still didn’t dare to look up. 

“Clarke, Matthias… someone else?” 

“Yes, sir. Mr. Thomas and Mr. Jefferson sometimes,” he said and Sir nodded. 

“You have your instructions, Margie. No duties today, light chores the next two days. I will find a new trainer in the meantime.” Sir left without waiting for an answer but Margie slowly rose. 

“Get some rest. I’ll send someone to bring you food and tea later,” she said and Clint nodded thankfully.

***

Margie went back to the kitchen to supervise the preparations for the dinner this afternoon. Charles, the chef, had already finished the dessert and was now preparing the main course and Rosa and Luke helped him.

“Where’s the wine?” Charles asked as soon as she entered. 

“Ah, damn,” she cursed silently. “We had a situation.” 

“We? Did the new one cause trouble again?” Rosa asked. She just kneaded noodle dough and breathed heavily. 

“Clint didn’t cause trouble, Rosa, and it’s none of your business,” Margie snapped. 

“He always strolls through the mansion as if he owned it,” Luke muttered and Margie slammed her hand down on the counter. 

“First of all, he doesn’t stroll through the mansion on his own behalf. He does what Sir tells him to do. And second, it was the same with Jane. They are no house slaves, they are different,” she said. Luke gritted his teeth but he didn’t speak back, he glared at the carrots in front of him and cut them very violently. 

“And by the way, you don’t want to swap place with Sir’s _projects_ ,” Charles added quietly. He didn’t look up, he just continued to stir in the huge pot in front of him. Margie didn’t say a word but she knew what he meant. Sir trained them, used them in his dirty business and if they survived his missions long enough he sold them to even more shady guys. 

“Oh, where’s Pete by the way?” She asked and Luke looked up again. 

“You sent him to rake the driveway,” he said. Margie nodded and left the kitchen. On her way to the front of the house she saw Mr. Thomas and Mr. Jefferson together with Sir loading something large, covered in a plastic sheet, - Mr. Matthias - into the back of a van. She had no idea what they were going to do with him and if she was honest, she didn’t want to know. She really didn’t. 

She found Pete in front of the house, almost done with his task. 

“Pete,” she called and when the young man looked up she waved him over. “When you’re done with the driveway you have to go to the gym, there’s blood to wipe away.” 

“Blood?” The young man’s eyes went wide and she just shook her head. 

“Don’t ask, just clean the gym,” she snapped, turned and went back to the basement to finally fetch the wine.

***

Together with Luke, who was a trained domestic servant, Margie served Sir’s guests this afternoon. Luke was only allowed to wear slave shorts and white gloves but Margie, as Sir’s alpha, was dressed in the knee-length black dress female alphas were allowed to wear instead of her usual tunic. She also wore white gloves to not touch the plates free people had to eat from with her hands. That wasn’t considered appropriate.

Sir’s guests were… rough, to put it mildly. One of them even wore a really ridiculous purple suit. It was a _business_ meeting, so Madam wasn’t here. And Margie was sure that she wouldn’t like Sir’s guests. After the dinner the three men went to the salon and only Margie was allowed there but she had to wear ear protection. Sir didn’t want his slaves to listen to their negotiations. But during her training she had learned the hand gestures and she had no problems to follow them when Sir or his guests needed something. 

Margie was kneeling beside the door, her hands folded behind her back and she was watching carefully Sir’s hands, not his face to not read his lips, when he suddenly gave her the sign to look up and then she should remove her ear protectors. Margie swallowed but she did as commanded. 

“Sir?” 

“Go to the dorm and fetch Clint,” Sir said. 

“Yes, Sir.” Margie rose and left the room. But before she could close the door she heard one of the names of the guests, Sir called him ‘Buck’. Margie hurried down to the basement where she found Clint sleeping on his cot. He clutched a cushion to his chest and Margie saw that he had cried again. And once more he mumbled that name - Tony - in his sleep. For a moment she wondered who this Tony was and what he had done to him that he still dreamt of him. 

“Clint,” she said quietly and touched his shoulder. Clint scrambled awake, jumped off of his cot and looked around, wide eyed, till he focused his gaze on her. “Clint,” Margie said again. “Sir wants to see you.” The boy wiped over his face with his hand, nodded and rose. He put the cushion back onto his cot and wanted to walk to the door. 

“No, your shorts are dirty and Sir’s guests are there. Change them,” she said. Clint stopped, nodded again and turned to the rack where they had their clothes. He removed his shorts and put on a clean one. Margie nodded and went to the door with him. 

“Did he… did he say why he wants to see me?” Clint asked warily. 

“No, of course not,” Margie told him indignantly. What did he expect? That Sir would tell a slave his motives? 

“I just thought…” he started and Margie looked at him. 

“It’s not your place to think, you just obey your orders,” she snapped. “I have no idea where you’ve been trained but they did a bad job,” Margie muttered and glared at the boy beside her. She had seldom heard something as ridiculous as that from one of the slaves in this household. This boy was really badly trained. She needed to talk to Sir about him. 

They arrived at the door to the salon, Margie knocked and waited for Sir’s command to enter. When she heard it she opened the door and went in. And she expected that Clint would follow her but he stood in the doorjamb, stared at the man in the purple suit open-mouthed and wide eyed. 

“Buck!” Clint breathed and Margie looked at Sir nervously. And when one of the other two turned his head, Clint whispered, “Jacques!” And paled even more. But Sir seemed relaxed, leaned in his armchair, a glass with whiskey and a cigar in his hands and watched the scene. 

“Get in,” Margie hissed and grabbed Clint’s arm. “And kneel down,” she added quietly when he was finally in the room and she had closed the door again. 

“Margie,” Sir commanded and nodded with his chin at her spot beside the door. She understood, knelt down and put in her ear protectors. Sir pointed at a spot in front of him and Clint reluctantly went over but at least he knelt down without making a fuss. He was pale like a sheet and his hands were clenched behind his back. The man in the ridiculous purple suit leaned forward and touched Clint’s cheek. Margie gasped when the boy turned his head away violently but Sir was not angry, he laughed. She had no idea how long they talked but eventually the boy rose and left the room hurriedly. Margie could see that he was pale like a ghost when he closed the door behind himself. 

Sir gestured for her to remove the ear protection and she obeyed immediately. 

“Margie, prepare two guest rooms. Buck and Jacques are staying for a few weeks. And make sure that Matthias’ room gets cleared out. You know how to proceed,” he said and yes, Margie knew. Once before, a few years ago, Sir had shot one of his team members and she had to clear out the room. She had had to pack together his clothes to give them to the welfare and the rest of his stuff was thrown away. 

“Yes, Sir,” she said and Sir dismissed her with a gesture. But when she left the room she found Clint sitting on the stairs, his head in his hands and still shivering. Margie took a deep breath and went to him. 

“Get up,” she said and the boy startled, stared at her wide-eyed. “I need your help.” At first she wanted to ask Rosa but since Clint was here and since she needed to talk to him she could kill two birds with one stone. 

“What…” he started to ask but he shut his mouth immediately. At least he was teachable. Together they went to the guest wing of the mansion - that was where all of Sir’s team members lived - and Margie opened two of the empty guest rooms. She went to the linen closet on this floor and fetched clean sheets and towels, handed one set to Clint and pointed at one room.  
“Put the sheets on the bed and the towels into the bathroom,” Margie said. Clint nodded but he didn’t go into the room, he stayed back, bit his lip and looked at his feet. “What’s wrong?” She finally asked and Clint took a deep breath.

“It’s… Buck… and Jacques,” he whispered barely audible. “They…” He started to shiver again. Something was really odd here. 

“You know them?” Margie asked against her better judgement. She shouldn’t do it, she knew that, but on the other hand, Clint’s wellbeing was still her responsibility. 

“Yes, from… from the circus. Buck and Jacques… they taught me how to shoot,” he said. “They… they are the reason I’m here now,” he added quietly. 

“They sold you to Sir?” Margie, who wanted to walk to the first guest room, stopped and turned back to Clint. 

“What? No… no, they… they were the reason me and my brother were enslaved,” he said and seemed really uncomfortable. “They and my brother… they robbed the circus. They got away, my brother got caught and the circus owner sold both of us,” he said. 

“You mean after your trial, right?” 

Clint snorted bitter. “There was no trial. Carson knew a rich guy and sold us to him. My brother ended in one of the factories and I became his son’s body slave.” 

“Body… body slave? How old have you been?” Margie stared at the boy. She knew that body slaves usually were juniors between the ages twelve and sixteen but it wasn’t allowed to enslave children younger than sixteen. Only born slaves could be body slaves. 

“I was twelve,” he admitted and Margie knew that she paled. 

“But… that’s illegal!” She blurted and Clint snorted bitterly. That explained a lot. He was never properly trained before he got sold and apparently his previous owners didn’t place value on a proper training for him as well.

“Yeah,” he said and took a deep breath. “But unfortunately no one cared about two orphanages who ran away to the circus.” 

“And now the men who are responsible for your enslavement are back,” she said quietly. “I’m so sorry, Clint.” He took another deep breath and nodded.

“Okay, let’s finish their rooms?” He said then. 

“Yes,” Margie smiled and patted his shoulder. The boy turned and wanted to go into the room she had told him to but she stopped him once more. “Clint,” she said and he turned his head and looked at her. “If they try to hurt you, you tell me, okay?” He nodded and smiled. Margie took a deep breath. She knew that Sir didn’t like it when his men touched his slaves and she would do her best to ensure that these men kept their fingers off of the boy. After all, his wellbeing _was > her responsibility._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I've written this chapter from an outside POV and it's just a tiny glimpse into this dark and twisted world but I've thought a lot about it. About slavery in general and all that and what it means to be a slave, to be treated like an inanimate object, to be bred only to live your life in captivity and to die in captivity... and in the meantime to serve your _master_ with the worst case of Stockholm syndrome because you never knew anything else, you're trained to never want anything else, to defend your _master_ even if he's a really bad guy and treats you like shit... well, that's Margie.


	8. Chapter 8

Obadiah walked down the stairs to Tony’s workshop. He had ordered Hayley to wait upstairs and the young slave knelt down, folded her hands behind her back and bowed her head. He was relaxed, and had a tiny smile on his lips. He had just had a blowjob in the back of his limousine, and Hayley was especially talented. So he was in a really good mood when he punched in the code, and waited for the door to open. 

As expected he found Tony hunched over a workbench, fiddling with some tech and listening to blaring heavy metal music. 

“Tony!” He called and the young man looked up and told JARVIS to turn down the music. He put down whatever he was working on and turned around. “What are you doing?” He asked.

“It’s… just a project,” he said vaguely and threw a rag over the stuff on the table. 

“A project? Tony, we have a deadline, you know that, right?” Obadiah said and came closer to look at the electronic components. He was no engineer but even he could see that this had nothing to do with the new missile the army had ordered.

“It’s… something dad worked on. I just thought I could…” Tony started, but with a harsh gesture with his right hand, Obadiah interrupted him. 

“No. You have to finish the missile first. We have a deadline, and you know what happens if we fail to meet it? What do you think the army will do?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Hammer Industries will get the job,” he muttered. Tony sighed and wiped his face with his hand. “JARVIS, I need more coffee.” 

“Of course, sir,” the AI answered immediately and Dum-E rolled over to the coffee maker. Obadiah looked around.

“Why don’t you send Pepper to get your coffee?” He wanted to know. He couldn’t see his former slave around. Where was she?

“She’s upstairs. She’s…” Tony stopped, and looked at him with a strange expression on his face. And Obadiah realized his _poker face_ slipped. 

“I gave it to you so it could take care of you, Tony,” he said quickly. 

“Don’t call her _it_ ,” Tony snapped. Obadiah sighed. 

“Tony, you know…” he started, stopped, pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths. The boy would never learn what it meant to be a slave owner. “They are not your friends,” he added then, and felt his good mood slip away.

“Was that everything?” Tony asked now. He folded his arms over his chest. 

“Well, I just wanted to know if everything goes to plan,” he said. He looked around again. “Apparently it was a good thing I came over, don’t you think?” 

“Obie,” Tony started, but Obadiah didn’t let him speak.

“No, Tony. You are the owner of a multinational company. You bear responsibility for thousands of people. You can’t just pursue a project on a whim!” He had to control himself not to yell at Tony. “People’s jobs are in danger when you lose a project like this to someone like Hammer!” 

Tony glared at him for a very long moment, but then he deflated. 

“Yeah, you’re right,” he admitted. One of his robots brought over a cup of coffee, and Tony took it and took a long sip. “You’re right.” He put the mug onto the table and swept all the components in front of him into a box, unceremoniously and with his hand, not caring if anything gets broken. “You’re right,” he said for the third time, rose and went to the door. He opened it and turned to Obadiah, looked at him, his teeth gritted and his head cocked slightly. “I have work to do.” 

Obadiah nodded slowly but he walked to the door, too. “Do your job, Tony. We need this contract. It’s not only the missile, it’s a good deal more. We cannot lose it to Hammer Industries,” he said. Tony just pressed his lips together and glared at him. Obadiah nodded again and left. He looked back and saw Tony throw something against a wall. 

Upstairs Hayley still knelt beside the stairs but when she wanted to rise, he gave her the sign to stay. The slave obeyed immediately, folded her hands behind her back again and looked at the floor in front of her. Obadiah searched the ground-floor but couldn’t find Pepper. 

He went to the second floor, and turned towards Tony’s bedroom when he found the slave. She just left the room with two girls in tow. Both looked rumpled and disheveled. One of them held her shoes - pink high heels - in her hand, the other one just tried to put hers on. All three startled when they saw him, and Pepper dropped to her knees immediately. 

“Master,” she said and cast her eyes down. The two girls looked from her to Obadiah and back.

“What’s going on here?” He demanded to know. 

“Who are you?” One of the girls, the brunette one, asked instead of an answer. 

“Are you Tony’s dad?” The other wanted to know. 

“No,” Obadiah said with one of his shark-like smiles before he trained his gaze on the kneeling slave. “Pepper?” 

“Master Stane,” she said carefully. “Master Tony brought them with him last night when he came back.”

Obadiah furrowed his brows and pursed his lips. “He was out?” 

“Yes, Master Stane. He said he needed a break,” Pepper told him.

“Get out,” Obadiah suddenly snapped and turned his head to glare at the two women. “Out!”

“Hey!” The blonde woman complained. “You said you’re not Tony’s dad!” 

“No,” Obadiah said and his grin turned evil again. “No, I’m the man who leads his company. And Tony does what I want. Now, out!” He pointed roughly in the direction where the entrance door was. He couldn’t see Pepper looking at him and when he turned back the slave had already trainer her eyes on the floor again. 

“And now, Pepper, follow me to the living room. And then you tell me everything that happened.” 

“Yes, Master Stane.”

***

Tony wiped his face with one hand and threw the screwdriver onto the workbench. His eyes burned and he could feel the beginning of a headache.

“JARVIS, painkillers,” he forced out before he dropped his head onto the workbench. The throbbing behind his eyes increased and he groaned quietly. 

“Master Tony,” Pepper said quietly, and gently put a hand on his shoulder. “Here.” She reached for his hand, opened it and placed two pills in it. Without opening his eyes he swallowed the pills, and felt a glass being pressed in his hand. It was water, and he drank a few gulps. 

“Keep your eyes closed,” Pepper whispered, when she touched Tony’s elbow. Slowly he rose, and followed her to the small cot he had in his workshop. She led him to it, and he lay down. He could feel a blanket being thrown over him and Pepper’s cool hand touching his forehead. “Try to sleep, Master Tony,” she whispered. 

“No, not… just Tony,” he mumbled. 

“Okay, Tony,” Pepper answered. He knew, the next time she would call him Master Tony again. She was… after all, she was not Clint. She was bred on one of those slave farms and trained since she was eight. He knew she couldn’t break this behavior easily. “Sleep now,” she said.

Tony wasn’t sure if he could sleep but at least he could lie here a bit and keep his eyes closed until the migraine would subside. He had worked almost three days without a break to keep the deadline, but now he was just at the end of his rope. 

He woke with a start when he felt Dum-E touching his face. 

“What the…” He blurted, and looked around bewildered. He was alone in the lab aside from his robots. Pepper was nowhere to be seen. Dum-E chirped and rolled backwards. “JARVIS, what time is it? And where’s Pepper?” 

“It’s nine twenty-three pm, sir. And Miss Pepper is currently in the kitchen, preparing your evening meal,” the AI said. Tony sat up, moved his head from one side to the other and stretched his arms. His migraine was gone, the pills had done their job. He looked over to his workbench, looked at the almost finished missile control system and then at the calendar on the wall behind himself. He still had two more days to finish the damn project.

“JARVIS, tell her to stop whatever she’s doing. Call Happy, I need him in half an hour,” he said, and rose from his cot. Dum-E chirped happily when he saw his creator on his own feet again. “Good boy,” Tony muttered and patted the bot’s _arm_.

“Sir, may I ask…” the AI started, but Tony shook his head. 

“No, you may not. Tell Pepper to wait for me in my dressing room,” he said. 

Of course Pepper was already there when Tony arrived in his dressing room.

“Tony,” she said, and he could see her struggle with the _urge_ to kneel down. He had forbidden her to fall to her knees every time he entered a room. 

“Pep, I want to go out. An idea what to wear?” He asked. He knew she had an amazing taste in clothes, and since she took care of his wardrobe it was better than ever. 

“But Tony, Master Stane said you need to…” she objected quietly. Tony whirled around.

“I’m not Obie’s property,” he snapped. “I do what I want.” 

Pepper shrank back, cast her eyes down immediately, and reflexively folded her hands behind her back. He could see that she barely managed to stay upright. “Yes, Master Tony.” 

Tony sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, it’s not your fault, Pep,” he said then. 

“Where do you want to go?” The slave asked after a while. Tony shrugged. 

“I’m not sure. A club, I think,” he said. Pepper nodded, walked away and came back with black cloth slacks, a ruby silk-shirt and black shoes in her hands. She showed it to Tony, and after a few seconds he nodded.

“Yeah, looks good,” he smiled. He started to undress, and he saw Pepper shift uneasily on her feet. If Tony wasn’t Tony this would’ve been her job. “I need a watch and… some _decorative_ stuff,” he said with a smirk now. Pepper nodded and hurried away to get what he wanted. 

When he was dressed he put on the watch, a ring she had chosen and a black leather belt. “You can… I don’t know… go to bed… or go watch TV… or do whatever you like,” he said. Pepper’s eyes went wide. Slaves were not allowed to watch TV without supervision, and _’do what you like’_ was something not said too often to a slave. 

“Y-yes, Ma… Tony,” she stuttered. Tony sighed again. He had her for half a year now and she still wasn’t adapted to his _unusual_ style yet. But she had to adapt, and so he only smirked, grabbed his wallet and left the dressing room. 

Happy waited with the black limousine in the garage, and Tony flopped down in the backseat. Most of the times he wanted to drive himself but not tonight, not after an almost-migraine.

“Where do you want to go?” Happy asked, and looked in the rearview mirror. Tony shrugged.

“Surprise me,” he said. Tony didn’t look at his driver, so he couldn’t see his grin. 

“All right, boss!”

***

Obadiah was more than angry when he entered Tony’s house. He tore open the front door, and glared around. Halyey scurried behind him into the house, and went to her usual spot beside the stairs. Clothes lay on the floor, on the couch and on the stairs to the bedroom, clothes from more than one person.

“JARVIS!” Obadiah bellowed. “Where is he!” But he was already on his way to the stairs.

“Master Tony is in his workshop,” the AI informed him nevertheless. Obadiah stomped down and punched his code into the keypad.

“Tony!” He snapped as soon as he was inside and saw the young man bent over his workbench again. He threw the paper, he had in his hand, onto the table in front of Tony. “What’s that?” 

Tony didn’t stop his work, he didn’t even look up. “Good morning to you, too, Obie,” he said, though.

Obadiah took a deep breath to not hit him right here and now. He pointed at the picture on the front page aggressively. “What’s that!” He spat. This time Tony turned around, removed his safety goggles and looked at the paper.

“Looks a lot like a paper,” he mumbled and just wanted to turn back. But when Obadiah slammed his hand down, he sighed and looked at the picture. It was Tony, dancing closely with a young man while kissing a girl at the same moment. Tony just raised a brow, and cocked his head. 

“This is…” Obadiah started, but Tony interrupted him. He pointed behind him and Obadiah turned around. Behind him stood a missile, all ready and shiny. “When did you finish it?” 

“Does it matter? You can call the army, they can have it. And now leave me alone,” Tony grumbled and turned back to his workbench. Obadiah could see that it was the same stuff he had worked on the last time, the stuff from his father. 

“Tony.” Obadiah took a deep breath, and tried to suppress his anger. He pointed at the paper now. “You can’t do things like that,” he said. This time the young man threw whatever tool he just had in his hand away and rose. 

“What? I can’t go out? I am not allowed to dance? I am not _allowed_ to do what I want anymore? What am I? Your slave?” He was very close now and Obadiah could see him grit his teeth.

“I’m on your side, Tony. But I’m also responsible for Stark Industries. Your father…” 

“Never! Never mention my father again!” Tony snapped and pointed his finger in Obadiah’s face. “Never!” 

“Tony, please,” Obadiah said calmly. “The supervisory board is… well… pretty pissed. They say, you are destroying our reputation. _You_ are a Stark - no, _the_ Stark - and not just an ordinary guy. _You_ represent Stark Industries.” He put a hand on the younger man’s shoulder and Tony glared at him for a long moment but then he deflated.

“The missile is finished. Take it to the army... or whomever. But tell the board members if they try to threaten me again, they will regret it.” 

“Okay, Tony,” Obadiah said and nodded. He forced a smile on his face. “Get… get some sleep,” he added then. Tony turned to his workbench once again, put on his safety goggles and started to work. 

Obadiah took another deep breath. He would send someone to fetch the missile later. And he would have to find a way to get rid of Tony sooner or later, preferably sooner. His genius would be difficult to replace but he was too unpredictable. 

When he arrived at the first floor he heard someone approach. It was Pepper, together with two people, a man and a woman. And Obadiah recognized them immediately. They were on the picture with Tony. 

“Master Stane,” the red-haired slave said as soon as she spotted him and dropped to her knees. 

“Pepper, what are you doing on the floor?” Obadiah hadn’t heard Tony leaving his workshop and following him upstairs. 

“Master Tony,” she said, and blushed the next moment. 

“Stand up, Pepper,” Tony said. Obadiah turned to Tony. The young man folded his arms over his chest, and cocked his head. 

“Tony,” Obadiah started. He felt the anger return full force, but he couldn’t alienate him. He needed him. Tony was not only the heir to SI, with his brilliant mind he _was_ Stark Industries. For now.

“I have a piece of paper in my records that says Pepper is my property,” Tony said and pointed at his chest. “You gave her to me, remember? And since she’s mine, Obie, _I_ set the rules. And I don’t want her to crawl around on the floor every time someone enters a room.” 

“Tony,” Obadiah hissed, but once more Tony interrupted him. The two people who were with Pepper shifted nervously on their feet and looked from Tony to him and back. Everyone could see that they were uncomfortable, but Obadiah couldn’t care less. 

“Pepper, stand up,” Tony repeated, and this time the young slave obeyed. She didn’t look at Obadiah when she hurried to Tony’s side. 

“Fine,” Obadiah pressed through his teeth. “Your slave, your rules.” 

“I have work to do,” Tony suddenly said. “Pepper, would you please accompany my guests to their taxi?” 

“Yes, Tony,” the slave said, and went to the door. Tony’s guests followed her, and Obadiah saw that they were relieved to get out of here. 

“Well, then I will no longer disturb you,” Obadiah said. He snapped his fingers and Hayley hurried over to him, and followed him out of Tony’s house. Pepper just closed the door of the taxi and the car drove away.

Tony stayed inside, and Obadiah stopped Pepper on her way back. 

“Hayley, go to my car,” he snapped, and as soon as the younger slave was out of earshot he hissed, “I gave you to him so you could take care of him, not to let him fuck around and…” He stopped for a moment, and looked around. “And to report to me.” 

“Yes, Master,” he said and cast her eyes down. 

“I need something to get rid of him. It’s your job to find it,” he spat. Pepper nodded slowly. 

“Yes… Master,” she said. Obadiah glared at her for a long moment before he turned around, and walked to his car. He didn’t look back, so he couldn’t see Pepper’s strange expression. He just knew that he needed to get rid of Tony sooner or later. When the gate closed behind his car, the slave still stood in the driveway, and watched him leave. But Obadiah didn’t look back.


	9. Chapter 9

Clint had fucked it up. Royally. 

This morning he sat on a roof, his bow drawn and an arrow trained on a man, who stood on a balcony of the opposite building. Buck sat beside him, watched through his scope, and listened to Sir, who was on the same balcony as his mark. Sir had an earpiece in his left ear, but he only talked to Buck. Clint had no idea what they were talking about, and he didn’t even _want_ to know what they were doing over there. 

The day before Buck called for him, gave him some clothes - black pants, a black shirt, a vest and combat boots - and told him to get dressed. Clint seldom wore more than the usual slave tunic and shorts and these clothes were uncomfortable, but Buck had trained him to shoot with the vest in the last weeks. No one told him why it was necessary to wear a tac vest but he wouldn’t dare to ask. The last time he had asked a question Buck had hit him so hard, his lip split open. 

Sir had ushered him, Jacques and Buck into a van and driven them to this building. He and Buck left the van - Buck carried his bow case - and together they went onto the roof. 

And now he waited, his bow drawn, and an arrow nocked. His arm started to hurt slowly, but Buck didn’t give the command. Clint’s mouth was painfully dry, and he felt queasy. He knew what was expected of him, that he should kill a man. He also knew what would happen to him, if the cops would ever find out what he was about to do. 

It was no problem at all when a free man killed a slave. He would have to pay a fine for cruelty against slaves, and that was that. But when a slave killed a free man, the sentence was death in a very cruel way, depending on the judge. Most of the time it was crucifixion, but he hed heard stories about slaves who had to fight against hungry bears and lions for their life… and lost. 

And then, all of a sudden, Buck said, “Shoot!”

Clint felt the adrenaline flood his body, felt the rush in his head, the sudden heat, his heart beating faster. And his hand started to shake. 

“Wh-what?” He stammered. He never actually expected him to give the command. 

“Shoot!” Buck snapped. “Now!”

Clint startled, released the arrow… and missed the mark. He stared for a few moments open mouthed because he had never missed his target before. Never.

Buck was swift to react. He backhanded Clint, and the slave dropped the bow. Buck grabbed it and an arrow, nocked, aimed, and released. And then he threw bow and arrows into the bowcase, grabbed Clint at his neck, and shoved him to the door that led into the building. 

“Move your goddamn ass,” he snarled. Clint could hear that Buck was hopping mad and so he didn’t dare to open his mouth, but he hurried down the stairs as fast as possible with Buck’s hand still on his neck. Outside of the building stood the van, and the door went open the moment they were close enough. Buck shoved him, and Clint fell into the vehicle. 

“What the fuck happened?” Jacques asked, and went back to the driver seat, as soon as Buck had closed the door behind them. 

Buck threw the bow case at Clint, and it hit him in the face. He could feel the skin break and blood flow over his chin. 

“He missed!” Buck spat, and kicked Clint’s leg. He wore heavy boots and it hurt like hell, but Clint still didn’t dare to open his mouth. “This goddamn asshole missed, and I had to take the shot!” 

“Okay,” Jacques frowned. “Did you get him?” 

“Of course! But it was a close call. Hit his shoulder and he fell from the balcony,” Buck snapped, and glared angrily at Clint. “You know this will have consequences!”

Clint cast his eyes down, and nodded slowly. He knew he had fucked it up, and he knew that Sir would be even more pissed than Buck. When Buck climbed onto the passenger seat, Clint curled up in the back, wrapped his arms around himself. 

“Months of training, and this failure fucks it up,” he muttered, and slammed his fist on the dashboard. “Al will be so pissed.” 

Clint swallowed nervously. He just had disobeyed a direct order from his master, well, an order from the man his master had told him to obey to. Pain would follow, that was for sure.

***

Buck dragged Clint into Sir’s office as soon as they were back _at home_. He shoved him, and Clint landed on his knees, and barely managed to avoid to hit the floor with his face.

“What happened?” Sir asked, the anger only just restrained. 

“He got the jitters,” Buck spat, and slapped the back of Clint’s head. “I had to tell him twice, and then he screwed up. I had to take the shot, but I could barely see the guy.” 

“He’s dead, that’s the main thing. But our client wanted it to be a clean shot, and not a mess like that,” Sir said, and Clint realized, that his voice was very close to him right now. “What have you to say for yourself?”

“Sir?” Clint dared to move his head a bit, looked at his master’s knees now. 

“Did I fucking stutter? Answer me!” Sir snapped now, and kicked Clint with his boot. He hit his ribs, and the steel toe-cap hurt like a bitch, when he fell backwards. 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” Clint stammered. “I… I have no idea… I… my hands shook, and…” He said, and moved back onto his knees, only to get backhanded. His split lip started to bleed again. 

“It was a simple task, wasn’t it?” Sir hissed. He squatted down beside him, grabbed his hair and forced him to look at his master. 

“Yes, sir,” Clint said, his voice strained. 

“Nock an arrow, aim, and shoot. That’s it. That’s what you’ve done all the time in the last few months!” Sir tightened his grip and Clint felt some of his hair being ripped out. 

“Yes, sir,” Clint pressed through his teeth. 

“Do you have even the slightest idea what you’ve cost me?” He shoved Clint again, and the slave fell onto his hands. He stayed down at the ground, didn’t dare to move. 

“To get you, to train you, to feed you… I should sell you to a dog food company! That way you’d do at least something useful!” Sir hissed. 

Clint’s mouth went dry, his heartbeat sped up, and heat crept over his body. He had heard stories, that some slave owners sold their older slaves, the ones who couldn’t work anymore, to get culled. To become dog food. Slaves talked in the nights, and he always thought they were just horror stories.

“Sir, please…” he started, but he couldn’t finish, because Sir kicked him again in his ribs, and Clint landed on his side. He wrapped his arm protectively around his head, and curled up in a fetal position. 

“Get him out of my sight!” Sir spat, but apparently he didn’t talk to him. And indeed it was Buck, who grabbed his arm, and dragged him out of the room. “You know what to do?” Sir called after them, and Buck agreed. 

“You should’ve taken the shot,” Buck said laconically. They went to the door to the basement, but he didn’t bring him to the dorm. They passed the door, and went to the wine cellar. Clint never was there, and he had no idea what would happen now. 

Buck dragged him along the wine racks to another _door_ in the back. But this door was different. It was small. Really small. Buck unlocked it, opened it, and now Clint could look inside. It was a tiny chamber, only two feet in each direction. 

“Undress,” Buck commanded. Clint’s head snapped up, but when he saw Buck’s glance he stepped out of the clothes he wore, folded them and gave them to Buck. 

“Get in,” he said, and Clint stared at him disbelievingly. Buck raised one brow, and pointed at the small entrance. “Do I have to repeat myself?”

“No,” Clint mumbled, and went down on his knees. He crawled into the tight space behind the door, and it wasn’t easy. He had to fold himself almost in half, pulled his knees up to his body, and then Buck closed the door. Clint could hear him lock it. It was pitch black inside, he could barely move, and after only a few minutes his muscles started to cramp. And slowly his whole body started to hurt because of the position he had to _sit_ in. The muscles cramped, the bones ached, and it was too cold and too dark. 

He had no idea how long he was in there, but he suffered. He cried, he screamed for help, his chest felt tight as if his heart would stop every moment, and then he started to sweat uncontrollably, he became nauseous, he had cold flashes and shortness of breath, he became thirsty, his mouth was so dry. And the worst was the smell because he had to pee and to crap where he was. No one let him out. Sometimes he passed out, but the pain in his muscles, in his bones always woke him, and he cried even more. 

When finally the door went open, and a rough hand grabbed his ankle and pulled him out, he cried again. The sudden movement hurt, and the light outside of the chamber was too bright. But Clint was thankful to be out of the hole again, and when he recognized his owner, standing in front of him, looking down at him, he crawled to Sir, and kissed his boots. 

“Thank you, sir,” he croaked. He didn’t dare to look up at him, and if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if he even could. 

“Margie,” Sir said, and now Clint realized that he wasn’t alone, “Get him to the dorm, clean him and then get him something to eat.. I want to see him tomorrow morning at the range.” 

“Yes, sir,” Margie said. The boots in front of Clint disappeared, and almost naked feet with tiny slave sandals appeared. A hand touched his shoulder. 

“Can you get up?” Margie asked. Clint wasn’t sure, he shrugged. But he tried it, tried to get up. Margie reached down, and with her help he managed to get onto his feet. She looked at him, sighed, before she took his arm and put it over her shoulder and wrapped the other arm around his waist. Together they stumbled to the dorm, and Margie brought him directly to the showers. Clint slumped down again, when she turned around to put on the water. He yelped, when the cold water hit his skin. Margie walked away, and came back only a few seconds later with soap.

“Can you do it yourself?” She asked. Clint, who had just opened his mouth to get some water into his system, nodded. 

“I’ll send Rosa, she will bring you food. Eat slowly, you haven’t had food in four days. Go to your bed, when you’ve eaten,” she said before she left. Clint nodded again, reached for the soap and started to clean himself. The dirt stuck to his skin and he had to scrub, but once he was clean he felt better. He drank a few more sips of water, but he knew he couldn’t drink too fast. He would become nauseous, even more than he already was. Four days! He’s been in that chamber for four days. 

“Clint?” Rosa called him, and he rose onto his knees and turned off the water. “Your food is on your bed,” she said. Clint nodded, and tried to get onto his feet, but it was more difficult than expected. And Rosa only stood there and watched him. He knew she didn’t like him, he hadn’t expected anything else. When he stumbled out of the showers, and into the room with their beds, he saw a plate with a few sandwiches. 

“It’s been only four days,” she said coldly. “Luke had to stay in the hole for a week when he spilled Sir’s favorite Whiskey two years ago.” 

“A… a week?” Clint’s eyes went wide. 

“Well, he got a bottle of water… and he drank his own piss,” Rosa shrugged again, turned around and went back to her work in the kitchen. Slowly Clint went to his bed, sat down and looked at the plate. He wasn’t sure if he was hungry, he felt a bit queasy. But when he had forced himself to take the first bite, he realized how hungry he really was. He literally inhaled the first two sandwiches, but then he stopped. He knew he would make himself sick if he would eat all of them. He placed the plate beside his bed on the floor, and lay back, pulled the blanket over himself and was out like a light in an instant.

***

**Six weeks later**

 

Clint waited in a van, together with Buck. He had a bow in his hands, and an arrow ready. Buck listened to Sir, who was in his Hemi'Cuda on the other side of the parking lot. 

“Get ready,” Buck suddenly said, and looked through his scope. “The man in the green jacket.” He pointed in a direction. 

Clint nodded, and Jacques opened the door so he could take the shot. He raised his bow, nocked the arrow, aimed, exhaled, and when Buck said, “Shoot!” he released the arrow. The man dropped to the ground, the arrow sticking out of his eye socket and people started to scream. Jacques slammed the door shut, Buck threw the scope onto the passenger’s seat, and floored it. With squealing tires they sped away. 

Jacques grinned, patted Clint’s shoulder, and reached for the bow. “Good job!” He said. “Bossman is more than satisfied.” 

“Thank you,” Clint mumbled quietly, and closed his eyes. He swallowed hard. He had just killed a man. He was a killer now. And his owner was satisfied, because that was what he wanted him to be… a killer.


	10. Chapter 10

“Ma… Tony,” Pepper said as soon as she entered his office. Tony, who just had dialed, put the receiver down again, and looked at her. 

“Pepper. How many times do I have to tell you again?” He asked, and Pepper dropped her eyes. She licked her lips nervously, and he saw that she wanted to kneel down. “It’s two years now.” 

“I know,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry. I… I try, Tony.” 

He looked at her and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “What’s up?” 

“Miss Dill gave me these contracts. She said you need to sign them,” Pepper said, and held the papers she had in her hand up.

Tony nodded and held his hand out to take them. But Pepper didn’t give them to him immediately, she waited for a second, bit her lip and shifted on her feet. Tony frowned. 

“What’s the problem?” He asked. Pepper went a step in his direction, stopped, and shifted again.

“Tony… I… I… I looked at them,” she admitted then. “I… you shouldn’t sign them.” 

“What’s wrong with them?” Tony rose and walked around his desk. He stopped in front of Pepper, who was really nervous at the moment. “Calm down, Pepper. You _know_ it’s okay.” 

“I… there was a typo and I… I looked them over. And then I saw it. If you sign those papers, you’ll lose your contract with the navy,” she said, flipped two pages and pointed at one of the paragraphs. “See?” 

Tony furrowed his brows, took the contract and started to read. And then he frowned even more. 

“What the…” He muttered. “Miss Dill!” He yelled then, “Miss Dill!” 

The older woman hurried into the office and looked around bewildered. 

“Mr Stark, what…” she started, but Tony already showed her the contract. 

“Who wrote this?” He snapped, and pointed at the paragraph Pepper had just pointed out to him. Miss Dill put the reading glasses, she wore on a chain around her neck, onto her nose, took the contract and read. And then she paled. “Oh my god, Mr Stark. I… I have… I’m so sorry,” she stammered. “I have no idea how this could happen. I… I wrote it myself. But… but this wasn’t what I’ve written.” 

“JARVIS, check all the systems,” Tony said immediately. 

“Of course, sir,” the AI answered. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr Stark. I have no idea how this could happen. I’ve been always at my desk, only when I had a break and then I shut down my computer.” 

“It’s okay, Miss Dill,” Tony said, patted her arm and _shooed_ her back to her desk. 

“I have to thank you, Pepper,” he said as soon as they were alone. “You’ve saved my ass. If I had signed this and we would’ve lost the contract, the supervisory board would’ve axed me.” 

“They can… they can do that? I thought it’s your company?” Pepper asked. Tony looked at her but he couldn’t read the expression on her face. But only a moment later it was gone, and Pepper cast her eyes down again. 

“It’s not easy but… with this…” he raised the papers in his hand, “With me losing the contract with the navy the could’ve done it. Fortunately…” He stopped, pursed his lips and turned to his assistant. 

“Miss Dill, cancel all my appointments. We have work to do, Pepper,” he said. He nodded with his head for Pepper to follow him into his office and closed the door behind them. 

“Okay, I know they don’t allow slaves to learn about business and all that. How did you…” He started as soon as they were alone. 

“I’ve always been with Master Stane for years. And… I just... I learned. I understood what he did when he talked to his business partners, I… I don’t know,” Pepper said and her voice became quieter and quieter. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tony looked at her, baffled.

“I… I thought you would be angry,” she admitted. 

“You should know me better,” Tony sighed theatrically. 

“I… know,” Pepper said and blushed. 

“But… that’s brilliant!” Tony suddenly beamed. “And…” He stopped, pursed his lips again. “Pepper, ask Miss Dill if you can help her. I have to make a few calls.” 

“Okay, Tony,” she said and turned around. 

“Pepper,” he said, just before she could leave the office. The slave turned around to look at him, and he smiled. “Good work. Thank you.” 

Pepper smiled, too, and blushed once more. “That’s my job.”

***

“Pepper, with me,” Tony said, as soon as he entered Miss Dill’s office. Both women looked up but Pepper rose immediately and followed him. She didn’t question him, she just obeyed and this fact made Tony angry. He went to the elevator, pressed the button and waited.

Earlier JARVIS had told him that he had found a Trojan. The AI admitted, he had no idea how it could infect the systems since there was no unauthorized access. Someone had to infect the system from the inside. Tony had ordered JARVIS to search for the person who did it. 

But now Tony had had another appointment. 

Happy waited in the garage for them, and as soon as he saw them he opened the door. Tony waved for Pepper to get in, and then he told Happy whereto he wanted to go before he followed her. 

“You still don’t ask questions, right?” He looked at the woman beside him. Pepper cast her eyes down for a moment, but then she looked at him. 

“I thought you would tell me if it was important for me to know,” she said. Tony took a deep breath. 

“Pepper, I…” he stopped, looked at her, and sighed. “It’s okay. We’re going to the SSPC,” he said then. 

Pepper’s eyes went wide. “Tony? Are you… Do you…” She stammered, but Tony stopped her with his raised hand. 

“Want to sell you?” He finished her question. “No, definitely not,” he added then. 

“What… what are we doing there then?” This time she asked the question, and Tony couldn’t hold back the smile. 

“That’s a surprise,” he smiled. Pepper looked at him for a very long moment, scrutinized him closely but then she nodded.

“Okay,” she said, and leaned back. She seemed to relax a bit. 

“Aren’t you curious?” He wanted to know, but Pepper looked at him again with that unreadable expression. 

“I trust you,” she said instead of an answer. 

When they arrived, Happy hurried around the car and opened the door for Tony, and he smirked, when they left the car. They were friends in private, but in public Happy was the dutiful employee. 

Pepper shifted beside him, she clenched and unclenched her hands a few times and licked her lips, when Tony gestured at the entrance. 

A naked slave opened the door for them. “Welcome to the SSPC, Master,” he said, and stepped aside to let them in. A familiar looking man came over as soon as the door was closed. 

“Hello, Mr. Stark. My name is Charles Henderson. Welcome to the State Slave Process Center,” the man said, smiled and held his hand out for Tony to shake it. And then he seemed to remember. “How’s your boy doing?”

Tony stopped and swallowed. He still hadn’t reported that Clint ran away. 

“He’s… doing fine,” he said slowly. “He’s keeping my house in California.” 

Henderson furrowed his brows. And Tony realized he had used _’he’_ instead of _’it’_ agian. 

“So, what can I do for you today, Mr. Stark. Want to sell your girl?” Henderson tried to smooth over the awkward moment. He rubbed his hands and scrutinized Pepper already. But Tony shook his head.

“No, sir. Quite the contrary,” he said. “I’m here to apply for Pepper’s reintegration.” Pepper’s head snapped around, and she stared at him, mouth agape. 

“Oh!” Henderson’s brows hit his hairline. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, pulled out some reading glasses, put them on and went over to Pepper. “Show me your SIN,” he commanded. 

Pepper held out her left arm, and Henderson read the number. “Uhm… it’s bred, Mr. Stark, so reintegration is… I guess what you meant was apply for integration,” he said. 

Tony sighed. “Yes, that was what I meant,” he said. 

“You know it’s a little bit more complicated, right? I mean, bred slaves have never experienced anything else. It… she needs to take courses what it means to be a free person. And it will take time. Six month at the minimum,” Henderson explained.

“I know. And that’s okay,” Tony said, and smiled reassuringly at Pepper. 

“All right, would you please follow me?” Henderson said, and pointed with his arm to the stairs to their left. He didn’t wait, though, he just went over. Tony looked at Pepper, who still was shocked to the core. 

“Tony,” she whispered, but Tony just took her hand, squeezed it, and nodded. 

“Come on, let’s do this,” he said, and put his hand on the small of Pepper’s back to lead her the way to Henderson’s office.

***

It was dark when Clint sneaked over the roof to the perch, where he could see his mark. Jacques was right behind him with a scope. He didn’t need a spotter, but Sir wanted him to accompany him. Buck waited in the car in front of the building for them.

The mark wasn’t there, yet, and so Clint had enough time to search for the perfect spot and find a _comfortable_ position, in case he had to wait for longer. He just had put an arrow out of his quiver, when Jacques cleared his throat. 

“There he is,” he whispered, but Clint had already seen him. His mark just parked his motorcycle. Clint nocked the arrow and aimed. “When you’re ready, shoot.” 

He licked his lips, and stared at the target. The man removed his helmet and put it onto the saddle of his bike. He looked over his shoulder, saw a woman coming up to him, he smiled, waved… and then he dropped dead to the ground, an arrow protruding out of his eye. The woman started to scream and Clint removed the string from _his_ bow. He put it in the case and handed it to Jacques. He was still not allowed to carry a weapon when he did not have to use it. 

“She’s using her phone,” Clint said, when he looked at the woman again. 

“Don’t worry, till the cops are here we’re gone,” Jacques smirked, grabbed Clint’s arm and shoved him to the fire escape. Buck opened the door to the van, and climbed behind the wheel when they entered. Jacques closed the door, and Clint fastened his seat belt. He knew Buck’s driving and wanted to be on the safe side. But this time he drove careful to not attract attention. 

When they turned right at a traffic light, Clint heard an ambulance arrive. But no one took notice of the nondescript blue van.

***

Half an hour later they arrived at the motel where they stayed for a week now.

“You can take a shower, then go to sleep,” Buck said. Clint nodded thankfully, and went to the bathroom, undressed and stepped under the spray. He needed only a few minutes but when he was done, he toweled himself and went back to the bedroom. Here in the motel room Buck and Jacques didn’t allow Clint to wear clothes, even if he had to appear like a free man to the outside. That’s why they booked a standard room with three beds and so Clint could sleep in a real bed and not on a slave cot. 

Buck was alone in the room when Clint came back. Apparently the older man saw his questioning glance, and huffed. 

“Monsieur Duquesne needs a _drink_ ,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm and he made air-quotes. He had a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of him, and a filled glass in his hand. “And my ordinary whiskey is not good enough for him.” 

“Okay,” Clint nodded, and eyed the bed. Buck nodded, and Clint went over, lay down and covered himself with his blanket. It was the first time for him in a real bed since… since Tony. It wasn’t as soft and comfy as Tony’s bed but way more comfortably as ‘his’ cot in the dorm. Only a few seconds later, Clint was asleep. 

He woke with a start when someone pulled away the blanket, and grabbed his feet. He had no idea how long he had slept, but it was still dark outside. Buck pulled him to the edge of the bed. 

“Wha…” he managed, but the older man grabbed him at the neck, pressed him into the mattress and spread his legs with a few kicks against his ankles. Clint tried to struggle, but Buck slapped him over the head. And then he heard him spit and only a second later he felt Buck’s cock at his entrance and without warning, without preparation or anything, he shoved in. Clint screamed in pain, but Buck slapped him again, leaned over him and pressed his forearm onto his neck. 

“Quiet,” he hissed, and Clint could smell the alcohol. Lots of alcohol. But Buck didn’t stop, he just started to fuck into him and it hurt like hell. Clint grabbed the sheets beneath him, his knuckles white, and he screamed into the mattress. Buck was rough, rougher than usual, but fortunately he didn’t last long, and soon he groaned, held Clint’s hips and ejaculated. 

Clint writhed in pain when he pulled out, and tears ran over his face. Buck chuckled, patted his sore ass and closed his pants. But just as he wanted to crawl back in the bed, the keys rattled and the door went open.

“Putain de merde!” Jacques cursed. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Buck grumbled, filled his glass with whiskey again and took a long sip.

“You know what Al had said!” Jacques snarled, took away the blanket Clint had tried to cover himself with, and looked at the mess Buck had left. “Merde! Merde! Merde! All the blood!” 

“He’ll clean himself tomorrow and when we’re back, he won’t say a word to Al, right Clint?” Buck retorted lazily, flopped down in the worn armchair and took another sip from his glass. 

“Yeah, right,” Clint mumbled, still too shocked from the unexpected and vicious attack. Sure, Buck had fucked him before but never like that, never so brutal.

“Did that… did that happen before?” Jacques suddenly snapped. “Did you do that before?” 

“What’s the matter? Al never found out and Clint knows better than to tell him. Otherwise I would have to tell Al, that Clint fucked up again, and he doesn’t want to go back into the hole.” Buck sounded smug. Clint didn’t look in his direction, but he knew the expression he sure as hell had on his face right now. It was always the same, just like the cat that ate the canary. 

“Are you okay?” Clint startled violently, when a hand touched his shoulder. Jacques leaned over him, and Clint almost scrambled out of the bed to hide somewhere. But he managed to stay. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he tried to run away. 

“Yes,” he lied, a lump in his throat. His whole body hurt like hell, his ass felt as if someone had tried to pull out his intestines through it, and he felt dirty. Again. 

“Go, clean yourself. And then sleep. We have to drive back tomorrow,” Jacques said, his voice unexpected soft and almost caring. Clint didn’t answer, he just couldn’t. But with Jacques’ help he rose and stumbled back to the bathroom. He showered again, cleaned his sore backside as carefully as possible but it hurt nevertheless. 

Clint slumped down onto his knees and couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. Every time Sir sent him on a mission with Buck he had used him but never when Jacques was there, too. And never so vicious. Most of the times he had to just suck him off, but this, this… this was a whole new level. 

Once again he thought at Tony and wondered what he, Clint, had done wrong, what the reason had been for Tony to sell him. 

When the water turned cold, he finally crawled out of the cubicle, grabbed the still damp towel he had used earlier and dried himself. Slowly he went back to the bedroom, and found Jacques yelling at Buck in French, while Buck ignored him, and drank whiskey. But when they saw him enter the room, Jacques shut his mouth, and nodded at the bed Clint had used earlier. 

Clint swallowed. There was blood - his blood - on the sheet but no one seemed to care. And so he lay down again, pulled the stained blanket over himself and closed his eyes. He couldn’t sleep, he just lay there and stayed quiet for the rest of the night.

***

“Is he there?” Tony could hear Obie’s voice through the door to his office. Miss Dill answered, but he couldn’t understand her. But only a few seconds later, the door burst open and Obie stormed in, came over to his desk and threw a few papers onto it. Tony frowned.

“What the fuck is that?” Obie snarled.

“Hello to you, too,” Tony said quietly. But then he took the papers and looked at them. It was a copy of his ‘Application for Integration’ for Pepper. 

“Where did you get that?” He asked instead of an answer. Obie flopped down on one of the visitor chairs, and glared at Tony. 

“I have connections, Tony,” Obie said with venom in his voice. “I give you one of my best slaves and you want to free it?” 

“Her,” Tony corrected automatically. He leaned back, and toyed around with his pen. 

“Whatever,” Obie snapped. “So, care to explain yourself?” 

“Actually, nope,” Tony said, and shook his head. “You gave her to me, she’s mine to do with whatever I want and I want her to be free. She deserves it,” he said. 

“Tony, you need someone to take care of you,” Obie said, a vein ticking at his temple, his voice carefully restrained. 

“I offered Pepper a job,” Tony shrugged. “She’ll be my personal assistant, and will do what she’d done so far. But she’ll get her own apartment, salary and leave. And decent clothes.” 

“You’re crazy, Tony. She’ll vanish as soon as she gets her certificate,” Obie hissed. 

“She won’t. I trust her, Obie,” Tony said, and it wasn’t a lie. He really did. Obie’s expression darkened, and he rose and went to the door. 

“And what was that with the navy contract?” Obie asked, before he arrived at the door. He turned to look at Tony again. “Why did you change it?” 

“It didn’t change too much, just enough so we didn’t lose it,” Tony said. He threw his pen onto the table. 

“What do you mean?” Obie came back. 

“JARVIS found a trojan horse in our system. Someone _changed_ paragraphs to our detriment. If I had signed it, we would’ve lost the contract,” Tony explained. 

“A trojan horse? Did you find the source?” Obie wanted to know. Tony shook his head.

“No, not yet. JARVIS is on it,” he said. Obie nodded slowly. 

“Well, I’m glad you found the mistake before we lost this contract.” He smiled, maybe a little bit too broad, reached for the doorknob and left Tony’s office. 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. He had expected him to be angry but this was nothing. And he knew, there would be more. He knew, Obie was far from finished about this topic.


	11. Chapter 11

Albert Deeds entered the bar through the back door. His potential new client suggested this bar but Albert didn’t know it and so he refused to use the front door. But he had seen that they had a back door and so he waited till one of the waiters went out for a smoke. 

“Hey!” The woman snapped when he stopped the door before it could fall shut. “That’s the door for the staff!” 

Albert reached into his pocket, pulled out a twenty dollar bill, held it out for her and smiled. The woman glared at him for another moment but then she took the money, put it in her pocket, and lit the cigarette that she had in her hand as she stepped aside so that he could enter. 

He walked through a small corridor, passed the office and the restrooms and stopped just inside the swinging doors that led into the bar. He looked at the guests who sat at the bar and spotted his contact immediately, even if he wore a cheap suit and a flat cap. He sat in a booth off to the side of the main room, glass in hand as he smoked a cigar. 

Albert opened the swinging door and walked over to the booth, dropping to sit opposite the shady figure.

“Mr. Smith,” he said. He knew the man’s name wasn’t Smith. Everyone knew that, he wasn’t exactly a nobody, but Albert went with his wishes and he had said he should call him Smith when he had contacted him. And so he would call him Smith.

“Mr. Jones,” the client greeted him, fluidly hailing him a drink from the bar in the same motion. It was a very good whiskey he discovered when he took a sip. 

“So, what can I do for you?” Albert eventually asked and put the glass down in front of him. 

“I have a problem, Mr. Jones. And a friend told me you can solve problems,” the client said. He put the cigar in the corner of his mouth, reached into the inside pocket of his suit and got out a photo. He put it on the table, turned it around and slid it over to him. Albert took the photo, looked at it and couldn’t stop his brows from hitting his hairline. 

“Are you serious?” He asked. Of course he recognized the man on the photo. Everyone knew that man. He was in the media every other day. 

“Yes, I am serious,” Smith said. “I know, it’s not going to be easy, but my friend said, you’re the best problem solver in the business.” 

“That’s true,” Albert said and nodded slowly. “But you have to understand, in this case it’s going to be… difficult. And difficult means expensive.” 

“No problem, Mr. Jones,” the client smiled. “Under the table is a briefcase and in it is the agreed consideration and everything you’ll need. His schedule, where you can get close to him, codes for the doors.” 

“Okay, that’s good,” Albert smiled. He reached for the briefcase, put it on the bench beside him and opened it. Everything was there, just as Smith had said. He nodded again. “All right, Mr. Smith. I’ll call you when the job is finished.” 

He reached for the glass, emptied it and rose. Smith stayed where he was, he just nodded at him. Albert went back to the swinging door, opened it and left the bar the same way he had entered it. He didn’t stop until he sat in his Hemi’Cuda but then he opened the briefcase again, eyebrows rising as he counted the money - enough for three _ordinary_ jobs - and looked over the stuff _Smith_ had given him. It was quite a lot but he knew they would need it. After all, no one would say that Tony Stark was an easy target.

***

Clint was nervous, when he knocked at the door to Sir’s office. Buck and Jacques went in half an hour earlier and he was afraid Sir would sent him on another mission with them.

“Come in,” Sir called through the door, and carefully Clint crept inside, automatically sinking to his knees. He folded his hands behind his back, and lowered his eyes.

“Sir,” he said quietly. Buck sat at one of the chairs in front of Sir’s desk while Jacques leaned at the wall beside one of the windows. Sir sat behind his desk, an open briefcase on it. 

“Clint, we have another mark for you,” Sir said and Clint swallowed. But he nodded. He understood.

“You’re going with Buck and Jacques again. You three are a good team,” Sir said. 

“Yeah, that’s true,” Buck chuckled and he only stopped when Jacques glared at him angrily. Fortunately for Buck Sir hadn’t seen it. 

“You have to use a rifle,” Sir said and this time Clint looked up. “Your bow doesn’t have the range you need for this mark.” 

“Yes, Sir,” Clint murmured. 

“Go to the range with Jacques, take a few training shots. You leave tomorrow in the morning,” Sir commanded. 

“Yes, Sir,” Clint said and when Sir waved his hand, he rose and left the office hastily. Another mission, another mark, another life he would have to take. More blood in his hands. He paused in the hallway and let his head drop against the nearest wall, squeezing his eyes shut. 

His hands started to shake. They wanted him to kill again. Since he was here they had forced him to kill eleven people already and he hated it, hated that these people had no idea what was in store for them, when he let his arrow fly. He hated, what he had to do to their friends, their families, the loss they had to endure. 

Clint let his head drop against the wall a few more times, before quickly making the rest of the way to the range where Jacques awaited.

“You haven’t shot with a rifle in a while,” he said without looking at Clint. “Let’s get you fit for your assignment.” 

“Yes, sir,” Clint said. When they entered the range, Jacques reached for his arm, ignoring Clint’s flinch and held it. They both paused.

“I won’t leave you alone with him this time,” he said quietly. Clint looked at him for a long and drawn out moment before he nodded. 

“Thanks,” he murmured and Jacques lips quirked as he patted his shoulder. 

“Let’s shoot things,” he smiled. 

Jacques went to the weapons locker, fetching the rifle and gave it to Clint. Hands automatically wrapping around to check the weapon’s condition, he paused as Jacques gave him the ammunition before stepping forward into a lane. Taking a deep breath, he raised the weapon to his shoulder, aiming at the target in the same fluid motion and shot. 

It was different to his bow, but he was good at his _job_. The most important skill that life had taught him was to adapt, and within the hour Jacques patted his shoulder, calling a halt to the practice after seeing him shoot bullseyes for more than 30 minutes. 

“Al will be satisfied when I tell him,” he said. Clint nodded and handed back the gun before walking over to wait beside the door, placing both hands against the wall with his feet shoulder-width apart. Jacques secured the weapon effortlessly in the locked weapons vault before frisking him to make sure he didn’t have a weapon. 

“Alright,” he said after a moment. He opened the door, ushing Clint into the corridor. Locking the door behind them, he looked at his watch. “Go, get something to eat and then go to your bed. I’ll tell Margie. We’ll leave tomorrow very early. Be ready at 5,” he said. 

Clint nodded again. And when Jacques turned to leave, Clint turned to the kitchen, to heed the other man’s advice.

***

Clint was ready at 4.45 am. He was dressed casually in jeans, a t-shirt, a jacket, socks and shoes. It felt strange and he couldn’t stop scratching at his arms and chest.

“Clint!” Buck snapped, when he saw him scratching himself again. “You have to appear like a free man.” 

“Sorry, sir,” he murmured. Buck slapped the back of his head and smirked but when Jacques appeared together with Sir the smirk vanished and he stepped back a few steps. 

“Is everything ready,” Sir asked Buck and the man nodded. 

“Yes,” he said. “We have the rifle, we have the ammunition, we have our gear and…” Buck started but Sir interrupted him.

“Good,” he turned to Jacques. “You go with Clint as spotter, and…” 

“What? I’m his spotter,” Buck interrupted him. Sir raised a brow and turned to him, looked him over and a tiny smirk appeared. 

“First of all, never interrupt me again, and second, you’re too fat for the perch. Jacques, however, is not. And, you work for me so you do what _I_ say, understood?” 

“Sorry, Al. I didn’t…” Buck said but Sir turned back to Jacques.

“When the job is done, lay low. It’ll be difficult to get away, so make sure the cops won’t find you,” Sir said. “I don’t want to lose my best sniper.” 

“Sure thing,” Jacques said. 

Sir looked at the three of them for a scrutinising moment, nodded, and then handed Jacques the keys to the van before leaving. 

“Right,” Buck said. “Let’s go.” 

But when Buck went to grab Clint’s arm, Jacques interjected, “Clint, take the bags and bring them to the van.” 

Clint obeyed immediately grabbing the bags in a sidestep that took him further away from the rapidly souring man. Buck glared angrily at Jacques before the French started flying between them in rapid fire, added percussion to the increasing pulse of his own heart as he thought of the trial ahead. He opened the back door of the van, placing the bags inside before waiting for the two men. But it seemed that Jacques had managed to stand by his word and kept Buck away from him. For now. 

“Get in the car, Clint,” Jacques said, the first to reach the van. And Clint obeyed. Buck started the car in silence as Jacques glared out of the window. The silence was stifling. No one spoke. Some time later, possibly in an attempt to defuse some of the tension, Buck switched on the radio, surprising Clint. Slaves usually weren’t allowed to listen to music - or to watch TV - but he kept quiet and listened attentively. Tony had liked rock music and Clint had liked it, too. But the radio was playing the same music that his dad had always listened to, country music. Despite this, he couldn’t afford to be picky and so he just enjoyed it. And a few of the songs were really good. 

After a few quick stops to eat and pee, they stopped at a motel as dusk crept in. Jacques stayed the entire evening in the room with Clint and when Buck left to get them something to eat, they talked a bit. When Buck was back they ate in silence - Clint kneeling at the floor beside the table - and then they went to bed. They only got a double bedroom and so Clint slept in a sleeping bag, his wrist chained to the footboard of Jacques’ bed, just to be sure that he didn’t do something dumb, Jacques had said. Clint was just thankful that he got the sleeping bag.

The next day rolled in much too quickly, Clint waking to the sound of Jacques and Buck speaking French again to each other. They quickly set out onto the road and repeated the tedious drive, music softly providing a backdrop to the growing tension. When it started to get dark again, Buck checked them into another motel while Jacques waited in the car with him. 

“When… when do we have to…” Clint asked after a long moment of quietness. 

“Tomorrow morning,” Jacques said. “Our mark has an appointment at the SSPC in New York and there we get him.” 

“Who is it?” Clint wanted to know. No one had told him who his mark was so far and that was unusual. 

“Tomorrow. Al said we should give you the details shortly before the job.” Jacques looked over his shoulder. Clint nodded. He had no idea why they behaved so secretively this time. They usually gave him a picture of his mark the day before he had to kill them in order to make sure he picked the right person out of the crowd. But as he was pondering the moment was shattered as Buck came back with the keys with a grunt, and so Clint went to fetch their bags. Falling into the spare room, this one just as badly decorated as the last, they ordered some food and went to bed early. And this time they had a bed for Clint, too. Jacques said, they wanted him to be well rested the next day. They cuffed his hand to one of the bedposts but Clint didn’t complain. He pulled the blanket over his naked body and closed his eyes, sleep quietly taking him as silence once again fell.

***

Tony poured himself a cup of coffee, already dressed in one of his tailor-made three-piece suits, when he heard steps behind himself. He turned around and saw Pepper enter the kitchen. She wore a simple, white dress and her collar. She hadn’t worn it in the last month or so and so she tugged at it without noticing. But today it was necessary that she wore it.

“Hey,” Tony greeted her with a smile. “Good morning.” 

“Good morning,” she smiled back at him. Tony handed her the mug he had just filled with coffee, taking another one out of the cupboard to pour some for himself. 

“Nervous?” He asked. Pepper nodded, but Tony’s smile broadened. “No need to be. Everything will be fine. Promise,” he said, reached for a bagel and gave it to her. “You should eat something,” he said with a small smile. Pepper paused with a slight frown before she gave in a quiet sigh, taking the bagel and pulling it apart.

“Are you sure about this, Tony?” She asked yet again.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ve told you last year and I’m even more sure right now.” Tony smiled at her but the smile stopped just short of his eyes. He had given the same promise to Clint and he had failed him. Clint should have been here, too, to go to the SSPC with him, to gain his freedom, to become a free man, to become…

“Boss, we have to drive. Your appointment is in half an hour,” Happy interrupted his train of thought and Tony’s head snapped around. He looked at his driver, then at his watch and emptied his coffee in one big gulp. 

“Right,” he said, and took Pepper’s arm. “Let’s go.” 

She put her mug and the half eaten bagel onto the counter and went to the elevator with Tony and Happy. 

The driver was even more excited than Pepper. He babbled the whole way down to the garage and Tony knew the two of them had grown quite close in the last few months. They were friends, maybe more than friends and he could understand that he was excited to see her freed. 

Tony hated to let someone else drive, but he knew that he needed to let Happy drive him to the SSPC. There were always a lot of people around there and he would inevitably attract attention. And Obie had told him that he had to keep up his appearance in public. He couldn’t drive himself and let his employee and his slave sit in the backseat. 

So he sat in the back, a glass with whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other, when he sensed Pepper shuffle in the seat beside him. He looked over to her, smiled reassuringly, put his phone away and took her hand. 

“Everything will be fine, Pep,” he said. Pepper gave him a short nod, a smile and then she licked her lips nervously. 

“I know. It’s just… what if I do it wrong? What if they won’t let me go when…” 

“Everything will be fine,” he repeated. “I’ll be there with you.” And this time he would move heaven and earth to keep this promise. This time they’d have to shoot him to keep him away from his _property_. 

“Welcome to the SSPC, Master,” a very young, female slave greeted them, when they left the car and went to the entrance. And after a look at Pepper, she smiled at her, too. “Welcome, aspirant.” 

Pepper blushed violently. Since Tony applied for her integration she had to take courses what it meant to be a free person, but she wasn’t allowed to wear the white dress in public outside of the courses, without her trainers. 

Tony took her hand, when someone called his name. He stopped and turned around to see Jeannie Miller, a reporter whom he had had a one night stand with once, coming up to him, a dictaphone in her hand. And then the sound of a gunshot cut through the air.

***

Clint recognized the building immediately and he had to swallow a few times. He still had vivid nightmares about the SSPC and what they did to him in there. But at this very moment he was sneaking over a nearby roof to get to the _perfect_ perch. His mark would be there soon, Buck had said.

He still had no idea whom he had to kill but he knew that his two guardians would have to tell him soon. And right on cue, before he moved forward to the perfect spot where he could see the entrance, Buck cleared his throat. Clint, the rifle already in his hands, looked over his shoulder. 

Buck handed him a picture. “Here, that’s your target,” he said. Clint took it and paled only a second later. The man on the picture, the man he should kill, was none other than Tony Stark.

“What?” He croaked and his hand started to shake while he still stared at the photo wide eyed. 

“This man. That’s your mark. Kill him as soon as he arrives. Understood?” Buck snapped. Clint looked up, looked at him, then at Jacques but both men seemed serious. No joke. They wanted him to kill Tony. The man he had loved once. The man, who had betrayed him. And his hands started to shake again. 

“Is there a problem?” Jacques asked now. Clint shook his head and he tried to concentrate, tried to get the tremor in his hands under control. “Clint!” He snapped, reached for his chin and forced him to look at him. “Is there a problem?” Jacques repeated.

“No… no, I… I just…” Clint started, but his hands refused to stop shaking. Jacques slapped his cheek and Clint was so shocked, he could only stare at him.

“Tell me what’s the problem!” He commanded now.

“It’s… I know him,” he almost whispered. “I know him.” 

“You know Tony Stark?” Buck threw in now. 

“He was… I was…” Clint swallowed hard, tried to get rid the thick lump in his throat. “His father bought me and… and Barney. I was… his.”

“Well, that’s your chance to get revenge on him then,” Buck chuckled. Clint looked at him for a long moment before he nodded half-heartedly, trying to push the rising nausea down. 

“Clint,” Jacques sad and he turned his gaze back to him. “Can you do it?” 

And, well. No. He wasn’t sure if he could shoot Tony but on the other hand, if he didn’t do it, the consequences would be… severe, to put it mildly. After another long moment he nodded again this time a little bit more confident. 

“Yeah, kill that rich fucker,” Buck teased. Jacques’ head snapped around. He glared at Buck angrily French flying forth and it didn’t sound friendly, quite the contrary. Buck said something, too, rose and left the roof. 

“Putain de merde,” Jacques cursed. He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay,” he said then, looked at Clint and gestured at the rifle. “Let’s go to the perch, concentrate and do your job. Forget Stark, forget that you know him. He’s just a mark. Get the job done and we all can go back and everything will be fine.” 

“Okay,” Clint gave him another small nod, climbed onto the ledge and turned to the rifle. So far no one - aside from the guards and a slavegirl who greeted the visitors and opened the doors - was there. He took a few deep breaths, raised the rifle to his shoulder and looked through the scope. A few cars arrived, people with slaves went in, people with slaves left but not To-- his mark. 

They had to wait only five more minutes until a black limousine arrived. And Clint recognized the driver immediately. Happy Hogan. He walked around the car and opened the door before the slave could come down the stairs. 

There he was. Tony Stark. Clint’s hand started to tremble slightly again and he took a few more deep breaths. Tony held out his hand and someone inside the car took it and left it as well. 

“No!” Clint couldn’t hold back. He knew the woman, who held Tony’s hand. He had seen her a few times with Stane but apparently now she was Tony’s slave. Her name was Pepper if he remembered correctly. She took a few steps and Clint could see her clearly now, recognizing the white aspirant’s dress and feeling his mouth going bone dry. Tony wanted to free her. He had sold _him_ but he’s here to free _her_? 

“Take the shot,” Jacques murmured behind him, tone more insistent. And Clint concentrated on his task again. Tony was covered by the car and by Happy and Clint saw another car arrive. Tony looked over his shoulder at it but then he took Pepper’s hand again and walked forward up the first set of stairs. Clint’s hands shook as he let out the breath in his lungs, halting his breath for a few short moments, mind going blank as his hands stilled, aimed… and pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note:**

> [asamandra on tumblr](http://asamandra.tumblr.com/)


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